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1.0 


I.I 


11.25  i  1.4 


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1.6 


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tails 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


irrata 
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1 

2 

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4 

5 

6 

POPULAR  NOVELS 


BY 


MAY  AGNES  FLEMING 


NORINE'S  REVENGE. 
A  WIFE'S  TRAGEDY. 
A  CHANGED  HEART. 
PRIDE  AND  PASSION. 
SHARING  HER  CRIME. 
A  WRONGED  WIFE. 
MAUDE  PERCY'S  SECRET. 
THE  ACTRESS*  DAUGHTER. 
THE  QUEEN  OP  THD  ISLB. 
THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN. 
EDITH  PERCIVAL. 
WEDDED  FOR  PIQUE. 
A  FATEFUL  ABDUCTION. 
THE  SISTERS  OP  TORWOOD. 

Mrs.  Plemjnjs's  stories  have  always  been  extremely 
popular.  Their  delineations  of  character,  lifelikie 
conversations,  the  flashes  of  wit,  their  constantly 
varying  scenes  and  deeply  interesting  plots  combine 
to  place  their  author  in  an  enviable  position,  which 
is  still  maiutained  despite  the  tremendous  onrush  of 
modem  novelists.  No  more  brilliant  or  stirring 
novels  than  hers  have  ever  been  published,  and. 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  seeker  after  romance 
to-day  reads  these  books  as  eagerly  as  did  onr 
mothers  when  they  first  appeared. 

Boond  in  cloth,  Price  50  cts.  each,  and  sent  ran 
by  mini  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO., 

Pubtishers 
NEW  YORK 


EDITH   PERCIVAL 


SI  anovti 


BY 


MAY   AGNES   FLEMING, 


AUTHOR  OF 

*GUY  EARLSCOURT'S  wife,"    "  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE," 

«*THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN,"    "A   WONDERFUL    WOMAN," 

"SILENT    AND  TRUE,"    "ONE   NIGHT'S    MYSTERY," 

"A  TERRIBLE  SECRET,"  "  NORINE'S  REVENGE,"      • 

"THE  ACTRESS  DAUGHTER," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


^, 


NEW   YORK: 

•WrmtHT,  ttti,  tr  Oi  W*  DlkUNAHAlb 

(SI    7K  Dillingham    Co,,   Publisk$rSm 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

I.  The  Two  Friends 7 

II.  The  Wreck 16 

III.  Saved 24 

IV.  The  Burning  Ship 29 

V.  The  Home  of  Edith 43 

VI.  Father  and  Son 54 

VII.  The  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs 61 

VIII.  The  Rivals 70 

IX.  Doomed 86 

X.  Major  Percival  in  a  "  State  of  Mind.".  97 

XI.  The  Abduction 113 

XII.  In  Captivity 126 

XIII.  Elva  Snowe 135 

XIV.  An  Unlooked-for  Interruption 142 

XV.  The  Prisoners 151 

XVI.  Joe  Smith 163 

XVII.  Joe  visits  his  Prisoners 176 

XVIII.  Plotting 182 

XIX.  The  Escape 192 

XX.  The  Journey  Home 200 

XXI.  The  Hermit's  Prediction 208 

XXII.  The  Stake 222 

XXIII.  A  Narrow  Escape 237 


vi 


ooimum. 


Chapter  Pkge 

XXIV.  The  Last  Resolve 245 

XXV.  The  Old  House  on  the  Bluflf 252 

XXVI.  Caught  in  the  Snare .  257 

XXVII.  The  Catastrophe 262 

XXVIII.  Next  Morning 268 

XXIX.  The  Arrest 281 

XXX.  The  Trial 287 

XXXI.  Edith's  Story 301 

XXXII.  "  The  Wages  of  Sin  is  Death 310 

XXXIII.  A  Startling  DiscoTery 316 

XXXIV.  And  Last 325 


ii! 


Edith  Percival 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    TWO  FRIENDS, 


**  And  its  hame,  hame,  harne* 

I  fain  wad  be — 
Hame,  hame,  hame. 

In  my  ain  countrie." 

—Allan  Cunningham. 

Morning  on  the  ocean  !  Grandly  rose  the  sun  in 
the  red  east,  sailing  slowly  and  majestically  toward 
the  meridian — a  burning  jewel  of  fire  set  in  the  deep- 
blue  sky.  Light,  fleecy  clouds  dotted  the  azure 
firmament  here  and  there,  looking  as  pure  and  as 
stainless  as  snowflakes  or  the  white  wings  of  angels. 
The  balmy  south  breeze  scarcely  rippled  the  surface 
of  the  deep,  or  filled  the  canvas  of  the  good  ship 
Mermaidy  as  she  glided  gracefully  onward,  bound 
for  the  bright  shores  of  America. 

The  day  was  intensely  hot.  The  crew  lay  in 
groups,  idly,  about  the  deck.  The  captain — a  stately- 
looking  man  of  forty  or  thereabouts — paced  up  and 
down  the  quarter-deck — now  letting  his  eyes  wander 
over  his  men,  or  giving   them   some  order ;   now 

[7] 


8 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS. 


looking  aloft  with  a  sailor's  pride  in  his  handsome 
craft  ;  and  now  raising  his  glass  to  sweep  the  hori- 
zon, on  which  no  living  thing  was  to  be  seen  save 
themselves. 

Leaning  over  the  taffrail,  stood  two  young  men. 
The  eldest  appeared  to  be  about  twenty-five  years  of 
age — tall  and  finely  proportioned,  with  an  eye  like 
an  eagle,  and  hair  that 

— *•  To  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing." 

He  stood  leaning  over  the  side,  his  eyes  fixed 
thoughtfully  on  the  spray  flashing  in  the  sunlight, 
as  the  ship  cut  her  way  through  the  rippling  waves. 
His  hat  was  off,  and  the  cool  breeze  lifted  lightly  the 
jetty  locks  off  his  high,  white  brow. 

His  companion  was  a  youth  some  three  or  four 
years  his  junior,  with  a  frank,  handsome  face,  and 
laughing  hazel  eyes.  His  look  of  careless  ease  was 
very  different  from  the  proud  reserve  of  his  compan- 
ion, but  some  secret  bond  of  sympathy  bound  those 
two  together. 

"  Well,  Fred,"  said  the  younger  of  the  two,  contin- 
uing their  conversation,  **  since,  as  you  say,  you 
neither  have  a  lady-love  in  America  nor  expect  a 
legacy  there,  I  confess  it  puzzles  me  to  know  what 
inducement  could  have  been  strong  enough  to  make 
you  quit  Paris." 

"  Very  easily  told,  my  dear  fellow  :  I  have  started 
for  America  at  the  express  command  of  my  worthy 
father." 

*•  Whew  !  what  a  dutiful  son  you  are,  Fred.  And, 
pray,  what  has  brought  Sir  William  to  that  rebel- 
lious land  '" 


THE  TWO    FJtlENDS. 


9 


"To  assist  in  subduing  the  rebellious  irankees,  of 
course  I"  replied  the  young  man,  with  a  slight  sneer 
on  his  well-cut  lip. 

"  And  he  wishes  his  son  and  heir  to  aid  him  in 
that  laudable  design,  instead  of  spending  his  time 
making  love  in  Paris  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  obtained  for  me  the  post  of  lieuten- 
ant in  the  British  army,  he  says." 

"  Which  you  will,  of  course,  accept  ?**  said  the 
younger  of  the  two,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  as  he  lit  a 
cigar,  and  blew  a  whiff  of  smoke  from  the  corner  of 
his  mouth. 

"  Which  I  most  decidedly  will  notT  replied  Fred, 
coolly. 

'•  And  why,  may  I  ask  T* 

"  Why  ?  What  a  question  for  you  to  ask,  Gus  ! 
Am  I  not  an  American  by  birth — an  American  in 
heart  and  soul — a  thousand  times  prouder  of  the 
glorious  land  in  which  I  was  born  than  of  my  father's 
broad  acres  in  merrie  England  ?  Why  ?  I  tell  you, 
Gus  Elliott,  I  will  join  the  ranks  of  my  countrymen, 
and  fight  and  conquer  or  die  with  them  in  defence 
of  their  cause  !" 

He  stood  erect,  while  his  eagle  eye  flashed,  and 
his  dark  cheek  glowed  with  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  spoke. 

Gus  stood  regarding  him  with  something  like 
admiration  struggling  through  his  usual  look  of  care- 
less indifference. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I  call  that  pretty 
strong  language  for  the  son  of  such  a  staunch  royal- 
ist as  Sir  William  Stanley.  What  do  you  suppose 
your  honored  father  will  say  when  he  sees  his  son 
turn  rebel  ?" 

"Doubtless,"  said  Fred,  quietly,  "he  will  be  in  a 


10 


THE  TWO   FBI£ND8. 


towering  passion,  and  rather  amazed  that  any  one 
should  presume  to  disobey  his  commands.  I  have 
long  known  it  must,  sooner  or  later,  come  to  this. 
When  this  war  first  commenced,  how  often  has  my 
blood  boiled  with  impotent  rage,  listening  to  the 
insults  and  sneers  of  him  and  his  tory  friends  on  the 
•  rebel  Yankees,'  as  they  contemptuously  called  them  .' 
How  I  did  long,  then,  to  leave  England  and  fly  to 
iHy  native  land,  to  aid  her  sons  in  their  brave  strug- 
gles for  independence  !  I  would  have  done  so,  but 
I  shrank  from  the  storm  of  passion  which  I  knew 
must  follow  it.  When  my  father  left  England  to  join 
his  Britannic  Majesty's  army  in  America,  I  left  for 
Paris,  lest  he  should  desire  me  to  follow  him, 
and  thus  hasten  a  disclosure  of  our  opposite  senti- 
ments. Three  weeks  ago,  I  received  his  command 
to  join  him  instantly.  It  seems  some  rumor  of  my 
true  sentiments  had  reached  him  ;  and,  indignant 
that  any  one  should  presume  to  question  the  loyalty 
of  a  son  of  his,  he  desires  me  to  vindicate  my  alle- 
giance to  his  gracious  Majesty,  and  wipe  off  such  a 
stain  on  his  name  by  immediately  accepting  the 
post  he  has  obtained  for  me  in  the  army.  Any  fur- 
ther concealment  is,  of  course,  out  of  the  question  : 
and  I  thank  Heaven  it  is  so  ;  for  it  seems  to  me  a 
craven  act  in  any  one  to  remain  an  idle  spectator 
while  his  native  land,  in  her  struggles  for  freedom, 
calls  all  her  sons  to  her  aid." 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  gazed  thought- 
fully on  the  bright  waves  below. 

*'  For  myself,"  said  Gus,  who  had  been  deeply 
impressed  by  Fred's  earnestness,  "  I  always  sympa- 
thized with  the  Colonies ;  but  it  was  merely  the 
natural  feeling  which  all  must  experience  when  they 
see  a  band  of  brave  men  struggling  for  freedom. 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 


11 


Like  yourself,  America  is  tlie  land  of  my  birth,  but, 
up  to  the  present,  I  have  been  absent  from  it  so  long, 
that  I  had  almost  ceased  to  regard  if  as  such.  Now, 
however,  my  feelings  are  changed.  Together,  Fred, 
we  will  fight  the  battles  of  our  native  land  ;  every 
arm  that  will  lift  itself  in  her  defence  is  needed 
now." 

"Your  sentiments  do  you  honor,  my  dear  Gus ; 
but,  as  you  asked  me  before,  what  will  your  friends 
say  ?" 

"Oh,  I  have  no  friends  worth  mentioning,"  replied 
Gus,  resuming  his  former  indifferent  tone.  "I  am 
an  orphan,  you  know,  with  a  bank-stock  sufficient  for 
all  my  wants,  with  no  relations  that  I  know  of  except 
an  uncle  in  America,  whom  I  have  not  seen  these  ten 
years.  "  And  I  tell  you  what,"  he  added,  with  sud- 
den animation,  "he  has  two  confoundedly  pretty 
daughters — especially  the  youngest.  I  used  to  be 
desperately  in  love  with  Nell,  as  a  boy." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Fred,  smiling,  "  and  who  is  this 
uncle  of  yours  ? — a  tory,  no  doubt." 

"You  had  better  believe  it !"  said  Gus,  "Major 
Percival  hates  the  rebels  as  he  hates  Old  Harry.  Of 
course,  I'll  be  disowned  when  he  hears  what  I've 
done.  Every  one  has  his  own  peculiar  hobby  ;  and 
pride  of  birth  is  Major  Percival's.  If  you  were  only 
to  hear  him,  Fred  !  He  dates  his  descent  back  to 
the  days  of  Noah,  and  a  good  deal  further  ;  for 
some  of  his  ancestors,  I  believe,'were  drowned  in  the 
flood.  His  lady,  too,  Mrs.  Percival,  is  the  grand- 
daughter of  a  lord  ;  so  you  see  the  major  has  some 
foundation  for  his  family  pride.  He's  as  rich  as 
Croesus,  too." 

"And  Miss  Nell.  I  suppose,  is  heiress  to  all  his 
wealth  ?" 


12 


THE  TWO   FBTENDS. 


"^ 


^M4^r« 


"  Not  she,  faith  !  Major  Percival  has  a  son  ana 
daughter  besides  ;  Nell's  the  youngest„  You  ought 
to  know  Nugent  Percival  ;  he  s  a  glorious  fellow,  and 
no  mistake — about  your  age,  too,  I  should  think." 

"I  may  see  them  all  yet — who  knows  ?"said  Fred. 
"  I  wish  this  voyage  were  over.  I  long  to  see  my 
father  and  tell  him  all,  and  join  the  patriot  army  of 
Washington." 

"  You  told  me  you  were  born  in  America,"  said 
Gus,  after  a  pause.  "  I  thought  Lady  Stanley  was  an 
Englishwoman,  and  had  never  crossed  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  in  her  life." 

"  The  Lady  Stanley  you  knew  was  not  my  mother," 
said  Fred,  coldly. 

" She  was  not!  That's  something  1  never  heard 
before,"  exclaimed  Gus,  in  unbounded  surprise 

"  It's  none  the  less  true  on  that  account,"  replied 
Fred,  while  a  slight  flush  crimsoned  his  dark  cheek. 
"  My  mother  was  an  American  born  ;  she  lived,  died, 
and  was  buried  in  that  land." 

*'  Well,  now,  that's  odd,"  said  Gus,  puffing  medi- 
tatively at  his  cigar.  "  Come,  Fred,  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it  ;  I  made  an  open  confession  to  you  :  and 
one  good  turn,  you  know,  deserves  another." 

The  young  man  smiled  slightly,  and  then  his  face 
grew  serious — almost  sad. 

"Very  few  know  my  history,"  he  said,  with  a  half 
sigh,  *'  but  with  you,  my  dear  Gus,  I  know  I  may 
speak  freely.  Many  years  ago,  when  my  father  was 
a  young  man,  business  or  pleasure — I  know  not  which 
— called  him  to  America.  Whilst  there,  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  young  girl  far  beneath  him  in 
wealth  and  rank,  but  his  equal  in  education,  and  his 
isuperior  in  moral  worth.  Bewildered  by  her  beauty, 
«ie  forgot   their  different   degrees  of   rank,  and    the 


THE  TWO   FRIE:'JD8. 


13 


young  girl  became  his  wife.  His  marriage  waskep*- 
a  secret  from  his  proud  friends  in  England,  and  Sir 
William  knew  that  there  was  little  fear  of  their  ever 
discovering  it,  for  prudence  had  not  been  forgotten 
by  love,  and  he  had  wooed  and  won  her  under  an 
assumed  name.  My  mother  never  dreamed  her  hus- 
band was  aught  but  one  of  her  own  station,  and  it 
was  my  father's  aim  not  to  undeceive  her." 

"  It  was  a  confoundedly  mean  trick  !"  interrupted 
Gus,  indignantly. 

"When  I  was  about  nine  years  old,"  continued 
Fred,  unmindful  of  the  interruption,  "  my  father 
started  for  England,  as  he  said,  on  business.  As  he 
was  frequently  in  the  habit  of  doing  so,  my  mother 
was  not  surprised,  but  her  husband  had  by  this  time 
outgrown  his  love  for  her,  and  when,  five  mont^^s 
after,  he  returned,  it  was  as  the  husband  of  another." 

Gus  was  again  about  to  make  a  passing  remark  on 
Sir  Williams's  conduct,  but  suddenly  checking  him- 
self, he  sank  back  in  silence. 

"  He  told  her  all,"  went  on  Fred,  with  stern  brief- 
ness ;  "his  iank,  his  title  ;  told  her  he  was  the  hus- 
band of  another,  and  that  she  must  no  longer  con- 
sider herself  his  wife.  He  said  he  had  come  for  me, 
to  take  me  with  him  to  England  ;  that  I  was  his  son, 
and  should  be  educated  as  became  a  Stanley.  My 
poor  mother  shrieked  and  clung  to  me,  but  I  was 
forcibly  torn  from  her  arms.  They  said  she  fell  to 
the  ground  like  one  dead,  and  from  that  hour  never 
spoke  again.  One  week  after  she  was  laid  in  her 
grave  !" 

Fred  paused,  while  the  veins  in  his  forehead  grew 
dark,  and  his  voice  choked  with  suppressed  emotion. 

"  But  she  was  avenged,"  he  continued  lifting  his 
head,  while  his  eyes  flashed;  "she  had  a  brother, 


''tl 


14 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 


absent  at  the  time,  but  who,  on  his  return,  heard  the 
story  from  the  sexton  who  had  buried  my  mother. 
His  oath  of  vengeance  was  fearful,  and  fearfully 
kept.  Five  years  passed  away.  Sir  William  and 
Lady  Stanley  had  but  one  child,  a  daughter,  whom 
they  idolized.  Leila  was  the  gentlest  and  most  beau' 
tiful  creature  I  ever  saw.  Words  cannot  tell  you, 
Gus,  how  I  loved  that  child.  One  day,  as  the  nurse 
was  walking  with  her  through  the  grounds  of  Stanley 
Park,  a  man,  dressed  in  the  rough  garb  of  a  sailor, 
sprang  from  behind  the  trees,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
shrieks  and  struggles  of  the  attendants,  bore  her 
off. 

The  nurse,  wild  with  terror,  fled  back  to  the  house, 
and  meeting  Sir  William  on  the  piazza,  fell,  fainting, 
at  his  feet.  When  she  recovered,  she  related  what 
had  happened,  and  the  consternation  and  horror  her 
recital  produced  may  by  imagined.  There  was  no 
doubt  in  Sir  William's  mind  as  to  who  had  done  the 
deed.  The  abductor  had  left  a  message  :  *  Tell  Sir 
Will  Stanley^  said  he,  *  my  sister  is  avenged!*  Search 
was  made  in  every  direction,  enormous  rewards  were 
offered,  the  police  was  put  on  the  track,  but  all  in 
vain.  Not  the  slightest  clue  to  Leila  could  be 
obtained.  It  was  the  belief  of  every  one,  the  sailor 
had  destroyed  the  child  to  escape  detection." 

"  It  is  more  than  probable,"  said  Gus.  "  Poor 
Lady  Stanley  !  I  can  now  understand  the  cause  of 
the  strange  melancholy  that  used  to  puzzle  me  so 
much." 

"She  never  smiled  from  that  day,"  said  Fred. 
*•  Had  the  child  died  she  would  have  grieved,  but 
such  grief  is  as  nothing.  It  was  the  terrible  uncer- 
tainty as  to  its  fate  that  weighed  on  her  heart.  It 
was  well  she  did  not  survive  it  long." 


TH«   TWO   FRIENDS. 


15 


*'  And  Sir  William  ?  how  did  he  bear  the  loss  Tin- 
quired  Gus. 

"  He  became  a  changed  man  from  that  day.  He 
grew  stern,  morose,  and  harsh  to  all.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  felt  it  to  be  a  just  retribution  for  his  con- 
duct to  his  first  wife,  and  this  reflection  rendered  his 
remorse  more  bitter.  Poor  Leila  !  dear  little  angel ! 
Gus,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  loved  that  child." 

He  paced  excitedly  up  and  down,  and  Gus  saw 
there  were  tears  in  the  deep,  dark  eyes  of  his  friend. 

"Yes,  that's  just  the  way  I  feel  about  Nell,"  said 
Gus,  who  really  was  in  a  desperate  strait  for  some- 
thing to  say,  and  the  deep  sigh  that  accompanied  his 
words  seemed  inexpressibly  ludicrous. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Fred  laughed  outright  at  his 
friend's  melancholy  look,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
Gus. 

"  On  my  honor,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  smitten. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  would  be  rash  enough  to 
take  a  wife  next,"  said  Fred. 

"  Rash  !  /  think  it's  the  most  sensible  thing  a 
fellow  could  do.  Don't  you  ever  intend  to  marry, 
Fred  ?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  other,  carelessly,  "  as  I  said 
before,  liberty  or  death  for  me.  Why,  Gus,  the 
tyranny  of  K*  g  George  is  nothing  to  that  of  a  wife. 
Don't  you  know  what  the  French  poet   Mauvause 

says : 

'  I  would  advise  a  man  to  pause 
Before  he  takes  a  wife. 
Indeed,  I  own,  I  see  no  cause 
He  should  not  pause  for  life.'  " 

"  He  must  have  been  a  crusty  old  bachelor  who 
wrote  that,"  remarked  Gus  ;  "  as  for  me,  I  intend  to 
make  fierce  love  to  Nell  the  moment  I  land.     "  Ton 


16 


Tr.r,  WRECK. 


my  nonor,  i  d  give  a  diamond  ring  to  see  that  flinty 
heart  of  yours  lying  at  the  feet  of  some  graceful 
little  Yankee — metaphorically  speaking,  of  course. 
Thev  say,  Fred,  the  American  ladies  are  all  pretty  !" 

♦'  1  doubt  it." 

"You're  a  stoic,  a  cynic,  an  unbeliever — an  old 
Diogenes  in  his  tub.  You  deserve  to  die  an  old 
bachelor.  It's  my  firm  and  never-to-be-shaken  belief 
that  you  have  been  jilted  by  some  heartless  coquette, 
and  for  spite,  now  rail  at  the  whole  sex." 

"  I  cry  you  mercy  !"  said  Fred,  as  he  laughingly 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  luxuriant  dark  locks.  "  I 
am  now,  as  I  ever  was,  and  always  shall  be,  *  heart- 
whole,  and  fancy  free.*  But  I  see,"  he  added,  draw- 
ing out  his  watch,  "  it  is  the  hour 

•When  lapdogs  give  themselves  the  rousing  shake. 
And  sleepless  lovers  just  at  twelve  awake.' 

So  let  us  go  below  ;  the  sable  goddess  of  the  cabin 
will  presently  announce  dinner  is  ready." 

And  together  the  two  young  men  strolled  into  the 
cabin. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  WRECK. 

**  Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone. 
Alone  on  the  wide,  wide  sea." 


**  I  say,  Jack,  old  fellow,  it  '11  be  doomsday  before 
we  reach  Boston,  at  this  rate,"  remarked  Gus,  some 
three  hours  after  the  conversation  related  above — as 
he,  together  with  his  friend,  stood  once  more  on  the 
deck. 


THE  WRECK, 


17 


It  flinty 
;raceful 

course, 
retty  !" 

-an  old 
an  old 
n  belief 

Dquette, 

ghingly 

ks.     "  I 

*  heart- 

1,  draw- 


shake, 

he  cabin 
into  the 


ly  before 
us,  some 
bove — as 
e  on  the 


The  pleasant  breeze  of  the  morning  had  passed 
away,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  dead  calm.  Not  a 
breath  of  air  rippled  the  surface  of  the  deep  ;  the 
sails  lay  flapping  idly  against  the  masts  ;  the  crew 
lay,  gasping  for  breath,  over  the  side  of  the  ship. 
The  sun,  with  its  fiery,  brassy  glow,  glared  in  the 
cloudless  sky,  loosening  the  very  seams  of  the  ship 
with  the  scorching  heat,  until  everything  looked 
parched  and  burning.  The  vessel  lay  motionless  on 
the  glittering  sea,  her  masts  and  ropes  reflected 
on  the  polished  surface,  as  in  a  mirror.  One  could 
almost  imagine  her  to  be  a  painted  ship  on  a  painted 
ocean — so  still,  so  lifeless,  so  sluggard  was  the  calm. 

The  old  tar  addressed  gave  his  trousers  a  hitch, 
turned  an  enormous  quid  of  tobacco  into  the  other 
cheek,  and  replied  only  by  a  dissatisfied  growl. 

"  I'm  fairly  choking  for  breath,"  weiU  on  Gus, 
leaning  over  the  bulwarks  in  the  vain  endeaver  to 
catch  a  mouthful  of  air ;  **  I  wish  to  heaven  a  breeze 
would  spring  up." 

"  Humph  !"  grunted  the  old  tar,  as  he  discharged 
an  enormous  stream  of  tobacco-juice  over  the  side^ 
"  you'll  have  your  wish  before  you  sleep,  youngster, 
or  Fm  mistaken." 

"  Well,  confess  you're  a  better  j  udge  of  the  weather 
than  I  am,  if  you  can  see  any  sign  of  a  breeze,"  said 
Gus.  "  By  the  look  of  things  at  present  I  should 
conclude  we  might  lie  sweltering  here  for  a  month 
of  Sundays." 

"  I've  been  on  the  ocean  man  and  boy,  for  thirty 
odd  years,  sir,  and  ought  to  know  something  of 
weather  signs.  If  it  doesn't  blow  great  guns  before 
the  sun  sets  to-night,  then  you  may  call  old  Jack  a 
good-for-nothing  lubber — that's  all." 

"  I  vow  I  hope  it  may  !  This  dog-trot  rate  of  going 


^ 


18 


THE  WRECK. 


is  enough  to  provoke  a  Quaker  to  kick  his  grand- 
mother. A  stiff  breeze  will  give  us  new  life,  and  set 
things  all  right  again,"  said  Gus. 

"  Maybe  so,"  said  the  old  salt,  rather  doubtingly  ; 
"but,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  you'll  wish  yourself  safe 
on  land  before  you  see  the  sun  rise  again." 

"Faith  !  I  wish  I  were  there  now."  said  Gus,  with 
a  yawn.  "  I  never  was  born  for  a  sailor  ;  and  never 
were  the  children  of  Israel  more  tired  of  their  quar- 
ters in  the  desert  than  I  am  of  this  rascally  old  ark. 
Look  out  for  your  storm,  Jack  ;  and  if  you  see  it 
coming,  just  let  me  know." 

And  Gus  seated  himself  on  the  quarter-rail,  and 
leisurely  lit  a  cigar. 

An  hour  or  two  passed  away  in  silence.  The  sun 
was  setting,  but  the  heat  was  still  intense.  Fred  lay 
gazing  idly  into  the  ship's  wake.  Gus  puffed  away, 
and  thought  of  Nell ;  but  the  heat  had  rendered 
both  too  languid  to  talk.  Suddenly  a  hand  was 
laid  on  his  arm  ;  and  looking  up,  Gus  beheld  old 
Jack. 

"Look  now, sir,"  said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  the 
sky.  Absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  the  young  man 
had  totally  forgotten  the  prediction  of  the  old  sailor. 
As  he  glanced  up  at  the  sky,  he  involuntarily  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  at  the  sight  which  met 
his  eye. 

As  far  as  he  could  see,  in  every  direction,  a  huge 
black  pall  of  intense  darkness  covered  the  face  of  the 
heavens.  A  lurid,  crimson  line  of  fire  in  the  west 
showed  where  the  sun  had  sank  below  the  horizon, 
and  was  reflected  like  a  thin  stream  of  blood  on  the 
sea.  Faint  puffs  of  wind,  from  what  quarter  of  the 
heavens  no  man  could  tell,  at  intervals  sighed 
through  the  rigging,  only  to  be  followed  by  an  omi- 


THE   WRECK. 


19 


M 


1 


nous  calm,  more  profound  than  before.  The  ship  lay 
rolling  heavily  on  the  black,  glassy  billows,  rising 
and  falling  like  a  dull,  heavy  log.  A  gloom  like  tVat 
of  midnight  was  gathering  over  sea  and  sky — the 
dismal,  ominous  silence  involuntarily  made  the  bold- 
est catch  his  breath  quick  and  short,  and  filled  each 
heart  with  a  nameless  awe,  as  they  stood  in  silent 
expectation  of  what  was  to  follow  this  dead  calm  of 
Nature,  as  she  paused  to  take  breath  before  the  hur- 
ricane of  her  wrath  burst  in  its  full  force. 

At  this  moment,  the  clear,  commanding  voice  of 
Captain  Harden  was  heard  giving  orders  to  his  men 
to  reef  the  sails. 

"  We'll  have  a  rousing  gale  to-night,"  said  he,  a 
few  moments  afterward,  "  or  I'm  mistaken.  I  knew 
this  dead  calm  didn't  come  for  nothing.  Ha  !  here 
it  is  !  Down,  men,  down,  and  hold  fast  for  your  lives  ! 
The  squall  is  upon  us  !" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  black  pall  that  hung  over 
the  sky  seemed  visibly  lifted  up,  and  a  ghastly, 
whitish  light  lit  up  the  heaving  sea.  A  vivid  flash  of 
lightning  blazed  in  the  sky  followed  by  ^  crash  of 
thunder  that  seemed  to  rend  the  very  heavens  in 
twain,  accompanied  by  a  flood  of  rain  and  a  terrific 
gale  ol  wind — and  the  hurricane  burst  upon  them 
with  tremendous  force.  For  a  moment  the  good  ship 
tottered  and  quivered  in  every  timber,  as  if  trem- 
bling before  the  gigantic  foe  ;  then  plunging  sud- 
denly downward  like  a  maddened  steed,  she  flew 
before  the  hurricane  with  the  speed  of  the  wind.  On, 
on,  on,  with  the  spray  dashing  over  the  decks,  and 
drenching  to  the  skin  the  affrighted  crew,  she  sped 
like  a  flash.  The  lightning  blazed  as  though  the 
whole  heavens  were  one  vast  sheet  of  flame  ;  the 
thunder  crashed  peal  upon  peal,  as  though  'he  ciMrth 


*% 


.!  1 


20 


THE   W££OK. 


were  rending  asunder  ;  tlie  rain  fell  in  vast  floods  of 
water;  the  wind  shrieked  and  howled  like  a  demon 
with  impotent  fury,  and  the  bark  plunged  madly  on, 
quivering,  creaking,  groaning,  and  straining  in  every 
timber.  The  huge  billows  rose  black  and  terrific, 
yawning  as  though  to  engulf  them,  the  white  foam 
gleaming  dismal  and  ghastly  in  the  spectral  darkness, 
now  and  then  shown  in  their  appalling  hugeness  by 
the  blinding  glare  of  the  lightning.  The  whole  scene 
was  inexpressibly  grand  and  terrific — the  most  cow- 
ardly soul  lost  all  sense  of  fear  in  the  awful  sublimity, 
the  unspeakable  grandeur  of  the  elemental  uproar. 

Fortunately,  the  hurricane  was  not  one  of  long 
duration.  Ere  an  hour  had  passed,  the  violence  of 
the  squall  had  greatly  abated,  but  not  before  it  had 
nearly  dismantled  the  ship. 

Fred  Stanley  stood  clinging  to  a  rope,  gazing  at 
the  troubled  sea  and  sky  with  a  feeling  of  unspeak- 
able awe,  that  swallowed  up  every  other  feeling. 
His  hat  had  blown  off  ;  his  long  dark  locks  streamed 
wildly  in  the  gale — his  eyes  were  fixed,  as  if  fasci- 
nated, on  the  gigantic  billows,  rising  like  huge  moun- 
tains as  if  to  overwhelm  them. 

His  meditations  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  a  hand 
being  laid  on  his  shoulder.  With  a  start  he  lookjd 
up,  and  beheld,  by  the  light  of  the  binnacle-lamp,  the 
pale  features  of  Gus  Elliott. 

"A  wild  night,  my  friend,"  said  the  youth;  and 
although  he  spoke  loudly,  his  voice  sounded  almost 
like  a  whisper  amid  the  roar  of  wind  and  sea. 

"A  fearful  storm,  truly,"  was  the  reply,  as  Fred's 
eyes  again  strove  to  pierce  through  the  thick  dark- 
ness. 

"Would  to  Hea\ren  it  were  morning  !  this  intense 
darkness  is  appalling.     Could  we  see  our  danger  I 


THE   WRECK. 


91 


and 


m 


would  not  care ;  but  in  this  fearful  gloom  the  imag- 
ination pictures  a  thousand  horrors,  far  worse  than 
the  most  dreadful  reality." 

"  It  can  scarcely  be  midnight  yet,"  said  Gus ;  "I 
see  the  clouds  are  breaking  away  in  that  direction. 
It  will  be  light  enough  presently." 

•*  Well,  messmate,  have  my  words  come  true  ?"  said 
a  voice  at  Gus's  elbow,  and  turning,  both  beheld  old 
Jack. 

"That  they  have,"  replied  Gus;  "and  though  I 
must  give  you  credit  for  being  a  true  prophet,  upon 
my  honor  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  such  predictions 
while  I  am  on  board  the  Mermaid." 

"  T/iaf  won't  be  long,  sir,  or  I'm  mistaken,"  replied 
Jack,  gloomily. 

"What?  croaking  again?  I  thought  all  danger 
was  past,"  said  the  youth. 

Jack  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

"  Come,  my  honest  son  of  Neptune,  out  with  it. 
What's  in  the  wind  now  ?" 

At  this  moment,  one  of  the  crew  shouted,  in  a  voice 
of  horror : 

"  The  ship  has  sprung  a  leak !  There's  five  feet 
of  water  in  the  hold  !" 

"  All  hands  to  the  pumps  !"  called  the  calm,  trumpet- 
like tones  of  the  captain. 

The  eyes  of  Gus  and  the  old  sailor  met. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  said  the  old  tar,  shak- 
ing his  head,  mournfully,  "  I  had  a  presentiment,  last 
night,  that  not  a  soul  on  board  the  Mermaid  would 
live  to  see  the  sun  rise  again." 

As  he  spoke,  he  hurried  forward  ;  but  not  until 
Gus  had  fairly  started  back  at  sight  of  the  ghastly 
look  on  his  fare,  as  it  was  revealed  by  the  dim  light 
of  the  binnacle-lamp.     The  youth    turned    uneasily 


il! 


'!  1 


22 


THE   WRECK. 


away,  and  encountered  the  dark,  earnest  eyes  of  his 
friend. 

**  Pooh  !  nonsense  !  what  an  old  prophet  of  evil 
that  is,"  said  Gus,  striving  to  shake  off  the  feeling 
for  which  he  could  not  account :  "  a  raven  could  not 
croak  more  dismally  than  he." 

"  And  yet  I  fear  he  is  right,"  said  Fred.  "  We  arft 
far  from  being  out  of  danger.  How  this  old  disman- 
tled hulk  is  plunging  and  staggering.  Hark  !  what 
is  that  r 

It  was  the  voice  of  one  of  the  men  who  had  been 
sent  below,  and  who  now  came  to  announce  that  the 
water  was  rapidly  rising. 

The  crew  redoubled  their  efforts.  Fred  and  Gus 
sprang  to  their  aid,  and  worked  for  their  lives.  But 
all  was  in  vain  ;  in  spite  of  all  their  exertions,  the 
hold  was  filling  fast. 

Suddenly  a  voice  full  of  horror  was  heard  : 

"  TAe  ship  is  sinking  /" 

In  an  instant  every  arm  dropped  as  if  palsied, 
every  face  blanched  to  the  hue  of  death,  and  the 
silence  of  the  grave  reigned.  Then  the  spell  was 
broken,  and  with  a  wild  cry  they  sprang  toward  the 
boats. 

**  Are  you  mad,  men  ?"  shouted  Captain  Harden, 
as  the  crew  rushed  pell-mell  to  the  side  of  the 
vessel. 

But  his  words  were  in  vain  ;  the  frightened 
wretches  heard  not,  heeded  not.  Maddened  by  their 
selfish  fears,  they  sprang  into  the  boats,  pushing  one 
another  fiercely  aside  in  their  cowardly  haste. 

"  Those  crowded  boats  will  never  live  in  this  surf  !" 
exclaimed  Fred,  in  a  voice  that  intense  excitement 
had  almost  sunk  to  a  whisper. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  nearest  boat  was  lifted  on 


THE   WRECK. 


29 


the  crest  of  a  monster  wave.  For  a  moment  It  poised 
on  its  fearful  height,  quivering  like  a  reed  ;  the  next 
a  wild  shriek  arose  from  the  doomed  crew,  and  every 
soul  was  struggling  in  the  hissing  seas.  In  less  than 
a  minute,  to  their  inexpressible  horror,  the  other 
boat  shared  the  same  fate  !  One  wild,  wild  agon- 
ized shriek  of  mortal  horror  arose  high  above  the 
storm,  and  then  all  grew  still.  Engulfed  beneath 
the  hissing  billows,  they  had  sunk  to  rise  no  more. 

Of  all  the  numerous  crew  of  the  good  ship  Mer- 
maid, there  were  three  persons  remaining  on  board, 
the  captain,  Fred  and  Gus.  Above  frowned  the 
angry  sky,  black  and  ominous  ;  beneath,  raged  the 
angrier  ocean — the  tops  of  the  white  billows  gleam- 
ing like  snow  against  the  murky  background. 
Around  was  spread  the  dense,  dark  pall  of  night — 
an  almost  impenetrable  wall  of  thick  blackness. 
Boats  and  crew  were  alike  gone.  Alone  they  stood 
on  the  wide  sea,  in  a  sinking  ship,  with  death  staring 
them  in  every  direction  in  the  face. 

The  ominous  words  of  the  old  sailor  rushed  to  the 
mind  of  Gus  :  *'  Not  a  soul  on  board  the  Mermaid 
would  live  to  see  the  sun  rise  again  !" 

How  true  his  words  seemed  likely  to  prove  ! 

"  We  will  soon  follow  them  !"  said  Gus,  turning 
to  the  captain. 

"  God  liveth  !"  was  the  solemn  answer,  "  He 
holdeth  the  ocean  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand.  Trust 
in  Him  !" 


u 


SAVED. 


P 


i| 


CHAPTER  III. 

SAVED. 

**  Rise !  for  the  day  is  breaking 
Though  the  dull  night  be  long!' 
Rise!  God  is  not  forsaking 
Thy  heart — be  strong — be  strong." 

For  a  few  moments  the  survivors  of  the  wreck 
stood  silent.  With  death  stciring  them  in  the  face, 
men  are  not  inclined  to  be  loquacious.  Each  one 
inwardly  commended  uls  sonl  to  his  Maker,  and 
strove  to  nerve  himself  to  fearlessly  meet  his  doom. 

"  And  can  we  not  even  make  an  effort  to  save  our 
lives  ?"  said  Fred,  at  last.  "  Must  we  die  without 
one  attempt  to  escape  the  doom  which  threatens 
us?" 

**  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. *'  Ha  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  suddenly  struck  by 
a  new  thought,  "  here  are  plenty  of  loose  spars  and 
ropes  ;  why  not  make  a  raft." 

"  This  old  hulk  will  go  to  the  bottom  before  it  is 
half  constructed,"  said  Gus. 

"It  is  worth  a  trial,  however,"  said  his  friend, 
springing  up  with  new  hope.  "Let  us  not  lose 
time.     Every  second  is  precious." 

Men  working  for  their  lives  need  little  urging.  In 
less  than  an  hour,  a  sufficient  number  of  spars  were 
lashed  together  to  make  a  tolerably  safe  raft. 

Captain  Harden  went  below,  to  discover  how 
much  longer  they  might  stay  on  the  wreck  in  safety. 

Turning  to  his  friend,  Gus  said,  as  he  touched  the 
raft  with  his  foot : 


SATBD. 


"  A  desperate  venture,  Fred,  to  trust  our  lives  on 
these  few  crazy  planks,  on  the  wide  Atlantic.  I  fear, 
ray  dear  friend,  the  patriot  army  of  Washington  will 
be  deprived  of  two  recruits  this  time." 

"  Desperate,  certainly,"  said  Fred,  thoughtfully  ; 
"  yet  I  feel  a  sort  of  presentiment  that  our  end  is  not 
so  near." 

♦'  Would  I  could  think  so,  too,"  said  Gus,  striving 
to  discover  some  sign  of  hope  in  the  threatening 
scene  around.  *'  I  cannot  but  recall  the  ominous 
words  of  that  old  sailor.  Tliey  are  continually 
recurring  to  my  mind  !" 

"  To  the  raft  !  to  the  raft,  for  your  lives  !"  shouted 
Captain  Harden,  as  he  rushed  on  deck,  "  the  ship  is 
sinking  !" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  she  began  plung^ing  to  and  frvO, 
like  a  frightened  steed. 

In  a  moment  they  had  flung  their  raft  over  the 
side,  and  had  leaped  from  the  deck. 

They  were  not  a  moment  too  soon.  The  doomed 
ship,  after  a  few  mad  struggles,  began  rapidly  to 
settle  in  the  water.  The  waves  seemed  lashed  into 
fury,  and  the  crest  of  each  huge  billow  swept  the  dis- 
mantled deck.  Suddenly  she  was  whirled  round  and 
round  by  some  impetuous  force,  then  rising  almost 
perpendicularly,  she  plunged  down,  stern  foremost. 
In  the  enormous  whirlpool  thus  formed,  they  almost 
imagined  they  could  see  the  bottom  ;  so  great  was 
its  force,  that  although  they  were  at  some  distance, 
they  held  their  breath  for  a  moment  in  involuntary 
terror,  as  they  were  swept  rapidly  toward  the  hissing 
vortex.  But  the  waves  again  closed  over  her,  and 
every  sign  of  life  vanished  from  the  horizon. 

"  There  perished  as  noble  a  bark  as  ever  braved 


),»■" 


36 


8ATED. 


the  blue  Atlantic  !"  said  Captain   Harden,  dashing 
the  spray  from  his  eyes. 

There  was  no  reply,  for  his  companions  were  lost 
in  thought.  How  inexpressibly  dreary  and  desolate 
is  all  around.  Alone  on  the  wide  ocean,  on  a  frail 
raft,  that  threatened  each  moment  to  go  to  pieces 
under  them  by  the  violence  of  the  waves.  The  cold 
spray  drenching  them  to  the  skin,  benumbed  them 
with  cold,  a  dull  lethary  was  creeping  over  them, 
when  Captain  Harden,  who  noticed  with  alarm  how 
frail  the  raft  was,  suddenly  said  : 

*'  Let  us  try  to  make  this  craft  of  ours  a  little 
tighter.  It  threatens  now  to  go  to  pieces  every 
moment.  Work  will  keep  us  warm,  too  ;  this  cold 
spray  is  enough  to  freeze  a  man." 

The  exertion  produced  the  desired  effect  ;  and  they 
soon  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  their  float  much 
more  secure  than  before.  How  long  the  hours 
seemed  that  must  intervene  until  morning  !  As  the 
night  slowly  wore  on,  the  storm  seemed  to  die  away, 
the  waves  subsided,  and  the  wind  sank  to  a  light 
breeze.  The  clouds  of  night  suddenly  rolled  away 
before  the  white  wand  of  morning.  Far  in  the  east, 
the  sky  and  sea  were  blushing  scarlet  before  the  com- 
ing of  the  sun.  Up  he  rose  in  fiery  radiance,  glow- 
ing and  golden,  in  a  canopy  of  purple,  crimson,  and 
blue.  Not  a  cloud  obscured  the  clear  blue  vault  of 
heaven,  that  a  few  hours  before  had  shot  forth  forked 
lightning  and  deafening  peals  of  thunder.  Their 
frail  raft  rose  and  fell  gayly  on  the  sparkling  waves, 
that  the  night  before  had  loomed  up  so  dark  and 
frightful.  Calm  and  peaceful  the  blue  sea  looked,  as 
though  hundreds  of  brave  hearts,  that  fearful  night, 
had  not  perished  forever  beneath. 

"  What  a  change  a  few  hours  has  made  l"  said 


SATED. 


27 


Fred,  as  the  light,  cool  breeze  lifted  gently  the  dark 
hair  off  his  feverish  brow  ;  **  last  night,  all  was  wild, 
and  dark,  and  tempestuous  ;  this  morning,  every- 
thing breathes  peace  and  beauty.  Sunrise  on  the 
©gean  !  was  there  ever  anything  more  glorious  ?" 

"  A  sailor's  luck,  Mr.  Stanley,"  said  Captain 
Harden,  shaking  the  spray  from  his  hair  ;  **  a  short 
time  ago  we  were  shivering  with  the  cold,  and  in 
two  hours  hence,  we  will  be  sweltering  in  the  rays 
of  a  sun  hot  enough  to  roast  an  African." 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  chance  of  our  being 
picked  up  before  night.  Captain  ?"  inquired  Gus. 

**  Can't  say,  sir.  I  trust  so,  however.  There  are 
always  ships  cruising  about  in  these  latitudes." 

The  day  wore  on  ;  and,  as  the  sun  approached 
the  meridian,  the  heat  grew  almost  intolerable. 
Without  shelter  to  ward  off  the  burning  rays  of  an 
almost  tropical  sun,  they  sank  down  overpowered, 
and  utterly  exhausted.  Thirst,  too,  began  to  tor- 
ment them  ;  and  the  consciousness  that  they  were 
without  means  to  allay  it,  added  to  their  suffering. 
Too  languid  even  to  converse,  they  sat  in  dreary 
silence,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  boundless  expanse  of 
sky  and  ocean. 

Slowly  the  sun  began  to  sink  in  the  west,  and  the 
conviction  that  they  must  pass  another  night  where 
they  were,  added  anything  but  comfort  to  their  situ- 
ation. 

When  the  glorious  sunlight  of  the  following  morn- 
ing fell  on  them,  it  found  them  parched  with  thirst, 
and  lying  utterly  exhausted  on  the  miserable  float. 
Fred  and  Captain  Harden  still  bore  up,  but  the 
fiery  flush  on  the  cheek  of  Gus  and  the  wild  light  in 
his  eyt,  showed  the  fever  that  was  burning  within. 

As  the  morning  passed,  and  noon  approached,  he 


28 


SAVED. 


grew  delirious.  He  raved  wildly,  and  more  than 
once  it  required  the  united  strength  of  his  friends 
to  prevent  him  from  plunging  bodily  into  the  deep. 

"  Would  to  Heaven  aid  would  come  !"  said  Cap- 
tain Harden,  with  deep  anxiety,  as  his  eye  fell  on 
the  delirious  youth.  "  Poor  boy,  I  do  not  wonder 
he  has  sunk  beneath  this  trial.  He  is  little  inured 
to  the  hardships  and  privations  of  a  sailor's  life." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  said  Fred,  who  had  an  eye  like  a 
hawk;  "there  is  a  vessel  bearing  down  directly 
toward  us.     Look  !  look  !" 

"By  Heaven,  yes,"  exclaimed  the  captain;  "let 
us  display  our  flag.  Ha  !  they  see  us  !  There  goes 
their  signal !" 

"  Saved,  Gus  !  Saved,  my  dear  fellow  !"  exclaimed 
Fred,  seizing  his  hand,  hot  and  burning,  in  both 
his. 

"  Saved  !  saved  !  I  knew  we  would  be  !  Hurrah  !" 
he  shouted,  with  wild  incoherence,  as  he  endeavored 
to  spring  to  his  feet — but  weak  and  exhausted,  he 
fell  back  in  the  arms  of  his  friend. 

The  vessel  proved  to  be  an  American  privateer. 
In  half  an  hour,  the  friends  were  on  board,  where 
every  kindness  that  could  be  required  was  gener- 
ously bestowed  upon  them ;  and  poor  Gus  was 
resigned  to  the  care  of  an  experienced  surgeon — 
who,  to  the  great  joy  of  Fred,  affirmed,  that  in  a  few 
days  he  would  be  out  of  danger. 


■3' 


i    ;^! 


THE   BUBNING   SHIP. 


2d 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  BURNING    SHIP. 


••Great  God  !  the  sights  that  I  have  seen 
When  far  upon  the  main, 
I'd  rather  that  my  death  had  been 
Than  see  those  sights  again." — LandoN. 

"  Yours  was  a  narrow  escape,  Mr.  Stanley,"  said 
Captain  Dale,  the  commander  of  the  privateer,  as, 
about  a  week  after  their  deliverance,  Fred  made  his 
appearance  on  deck. 

Gus  was  there,  too,  looking  rather  pale,  but  per- 
fectly restored  both  to  health  and  spirits. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Fred  ;  *'  and,  though  I  have 
been  as  near  death  in  many  shapes  before,  I  never 
felt  it  so  horrible  as  when,  wild  with  thirst,  I  stood 
expecting  it  on  that  frail  raft,  on  the  broad  Atlantic." 

"  And  your  friend,"  said  the  captain,  smiling,  **  was 
in  still  worse  condition  when  we  providentially  came 
across  you." 

"  Egad  !"  exclaimed  Gus,  "  it  came  near  doing  for 
me.  I'll  never  undertake  to  sail  across  the  Atlantic 
on  a  raft  again,  if  I  can  help  it  ;  at  least,  not  without 
a  beaker  of  fresh  water  on  board." 

**  What  is  your  destination  now,  captain  ?"  inquired 
Fred. 

"Boston  ;  but  I  mean  to  capture,  if  possible, a  few 
Britishers  first,  to  make  time  pass  pleasantly." 

"  Boston  ?  we're  in  luck,  Fred,"  observed  Gus. 
**  So,"  he  added  to  the  captain,  "  you  sometimes  have 
a  skirmish  with  the  British,  do  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dale  ;  "  it's  only  last  week  I  sent  a 


30 


THIi  BURNING   SHIP. 


sloop-of-war  to  Davie  Jones  ;  and,  with  the  help  of 
the  Lord,  and  that  long  Tom  there,  I  trust  speedily 
to  send  some  more  of  their  brethren  to  look  after 
them." 

"  Sail  hor  called  the  shrill  tones  of  the  look-out,  at 
this  moment. 

"  Whereaway  ?"  demanded  Captain  Dale,  as  he 
seized  a  glass,  and  sprang  into  the  rigging. 

"Due  east,  sir." 

**  And  an  Englishman,  by  Jupiter  !"  exclaimed  the 
captain,  as  he  again  leaped  on  the  deck.  "  There's 
something  wrong  on  board  of  her,  too,"  he  continued, 
"for  the  crew  are  running  wildly  about  the  deck, 
sometimes  rushing  in  a  body  below,  and  again  re-ap- 
pearing.    Can  the  crew  have  mutinied  ?" 

Again  he  gazed  long  and  steadfastly  at  the  ves- 
sel. 

"  Heavens  !'*  he  exclaimed,  "  the  ship's  on  fire  !" 

"  By  Jove,  so  it  is,"  said  Fred  ;  and,  even  as  he 
spoke,  a  sudden  jet  of  flame  shot  up  the  hatchway 
of  the  ship. 

"  And  there  goes  a  signal  of  distress,"  shouted 
Gus,  as  a  white  pennant  suddenly  streamed  out  in 
the  breeze  from  the  mast-head. 

"See  how  the  poor  wretches  are  crowding  to- 
gether," exclaimed  the  captain  ;  "  we  must  not  let 
them  perish  before  our  eyes.  Who  will  volunteer  K> 
go  to  the  rescue  ?" 

As  if  by  one  impulse,  men  and  officers  all  sprang 
forward  to  offer  their  services. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Captain  Dale,  good-humoredly,  "  I 
cannot  let  you  all  go.  Here,  Mr.  Stewart,"  address- 
ing his  first  lieutenant,  "  you  will  take  command  of 
one  boat,  and — ah  !  Mr.  Stanley,  I  see  by  your  eager 
look  how  anxious ^^2^  are  to  lend  assistance.     Weil, 


iii 


THE   BURNING   SHIP. 


31 


he 


to- 
let 


you  can  take  charge  of  the  other  boat  ;  and,"  he 
added,  lowering  his  voice,  "look  out  for  the  maga- 
Now,  be  off,  and  God  speed  you  !" 


zme. 


"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  came  cheerily  from  a  score  of  lips, 
as  the  hardy  seamen  bent  to  their  oars. 

"  Give  way,  my  lads  !"  cried  Fred,  as  he  sprang 
into  the  stern-sheets  and  waved  his  cap  in  the  air. 

The  men  bent  to  their  oars  with  a  will,  and  the 
boat  cut  like  a  sea-gull  through  the  waters.  Fred 
still  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  burning  ship — 
his  handsome  face  all  aglow  with  excitement. 

The  scene  was  inexpressibly  grand  and  terrific. 
The  flames  were  now  bursting  out  from  every  part 
of  the  ship  ;  while  a  dark,  dense  cloud  of  sulphurous 
smoke  clouded  the  blue  sky  above.  The  fiery  mon- 
ster ran  up  the  shrouds  and  rigging,  twining  its 
fierce  tongue  around  the  masts;  while  occasionally 
the  sullen  booming  of  a  gun  would  float  over  the 
waters,  as  her  armament,  heated  by  the  flames,  went 
off.  The  affrighted  crew  were  huddled  together — by 
their  frantic  gestures  and  wild  signs,  striving  to  urge 
the  boats  still  faster  on,  as  they  beheld  the  flames 
rapidly  approaching  the  spot  where  they  stood. 

"  Give  way,  my  men  I  give  way  !  Will  you  see 
them  perish  miserably  before  your  eyes  ?"  shouted 
Fred,  his  dark  eyes  blazing  with  excitement,  as  he 
beheld  the  fiery-tongued  monster  almost  within  a 
few  feet  of  the  unhappy  wretches,  whose  skrieks  of 
terror  came  piercingly  to  their  ears. 

And  the  brave  fellows  did  give  way.  In  that 
moment  they  thought  not  that  the  men  they  were 
going  to  save  were  the  enemies  of  their  country — they 
only  saw  fellow-creatures  in  danger  of  perishing 
by  a  miserable  death  ;  and  with  the  proverbial  gen- 
erosity of  sailors^  they  bent  their  brawny  arms  to  the 


S2 


THE   BUBNING  SHIP. 


f   ■•* 


||ii 


task  until  great  drops  of  perspiration  stood  in  beads 
on  their  flushedfaces,  and  the  boat  skimmed  over  the 
water  with  the  velocity  of  a  bird  on  thewing.  In  less 
than  ten  minutes  more,  they  were  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  burning  ship, 

"  Leap  into  the  water,  and  we  will  pick  you  up  ?" 
shouted  Fred — fearing  lest,  if  they  approached  too 
near,  the  boats  might  swamp  from  the  numbers  who 
would  crowd  into  them. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  command  was 
obeyed,  and  the  crews  of  both  boats  were  soon  busily 
employed  in  rescuing  the  poor  fellows. 

"  Is  this  all  ?"  asked  Fred,  as  the  last  of  those  who 
had  leaped  from  the  deck  were  picked  up. 

*'  All,  sir,"  was  the  universal  answer. 

"  No,  sir  ;  it's  no(  all !"  said  a  boy — a  mere  lad  of 
fourteen — springing  from  his  seat.  "  There's  a  lady 
aboard  yet  ;  she  is  in  the  cabin,  and  we  forgot  her." 

"  Great  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  his  dark  face 
paling  with  horror — "  have  you  left  a  woman  on 
board  that  burning  ship  to  perish  ?" 

"  We  forgot  her,  sir,"  was  the  muttered  response  ; 
while  more  than  one  eye  fell  beneath  the  scornful 
gaze  of  those  fiery  black  eyes. 

For  one  moment  Fred  thought  of  Captain  Dale's 
command — "  Look  out  for  the  magazine .'" — and  paused 
irresolute.  Not  for  himself — oh.  no  !  His  deter- 
mination was  to  rescue  the  lady  or  die,  but  for  the 
men  intrusted  to  his  care.  He  felt  that  he  had  no 
right  to  peril  the  lives  of  many  to  save  that  of  one  ; 
and  for  a  moment  he  stood  undecided  what  course 
to  pursue.  Then,  as  the  terrible  thought,  that  a 
fellow  creature  and  a  woman  might  even  at  that  mo- 
ment be  perishing  in  the  flames,  sent  the  blood  curd- 


THE  BUBXmO  SHIP. 


33 


I 
1 


■  M 


1 


ling  to  his  brave  heart,  he  looked  up  and  said,  in  a 
clear  and  impressive  voice,  to  his  own  men  : 

"  My  brave  lads,  I  cannot  leave  a  woman  to  perish 
in  that  burning  ship.  I  am  going  on  board  to  rescue 
her.  You  will,  in  the  meantime,  keep  at  some  dis- 
tance off  ;  and  when  I  appear  on  deck,  return  for 
me.  Should  you  not  see  me  again,"  (he  paused  for 
a  moment),  "you  will  return  to  the  privateer,  and 
tell  Captain  Dale  I  have  striven  to  do  my  duty. 
That  will  do.     Stand  off,  and  wait  for  me." 

He  caught  a  rope  that  hung  over  the  vessel's 
side,  and  sprang  on  the  burning  deck,  "  whence  all 
but  him  had  fled."  There  was  a  moment's  profound 
pause  of  surprise  and  admiration  in  the  boat,  as  the 
crew  of  the  privateer  beheld  the  tall,  slight  form  of 
their  gallant  young  leader  disappear  amid  the  thick 
smoke.  The  crew  of  the  Englishman  bent  their 
heads  in  shame  ;  the  scathing,  scornful  glance  in  the 
eagle  eye  of  the  young  American  had  brought  before 
them,  more  forcibly  than  any  words  could  have 
done,  his  lofty  contempt  for  their  dastardly  conduct. 

Meanwhile,  through  the  dense  smoke,  Fred  made 
his  way.  A  sudden  breeze  blew  the  flames  aside  ; 
and  to  his  inexpressible  joy  he  saw  that  the  flames 
had  not  yet  reached  the  cabin.  He  dashed  down 
the  stairs,  taking  three  or  four  steps  at  a  time,  and 
paused  for  a  moment  to  glance  around. 

The  walls  were  of  a  dark,  polished  oak,  the  floor 
covered  with  a  rich  Turkey  carpet,  whose  brilliant 
hues  were  bright  as  the  gorgeous  plumage  of  a 
humming-bird.  The  chairs  and  lounges,  profusely 
scattered  around,  were  of  dark  carved  wood — old  and 
quaint  in  appearance,  and  cushioned  with  dark-blue 
velvet.  A  guitar  lay  in  a  corner,  and  carelessly 
scattered  by  it  were  several  sheets  of  music.    A  book* 


>:!!! 


84 


THE   BURNING  SHIP. 


!     :l 


«l 


case,  filled  with  a  choice  selection  of  books,  stood  in 
one  corner  ;  and  lying  half  open  on  the  table,  as  if  ii; 
had  just  been  dropped,  was  a  small,  elegantly-bound 
volume  of  Milton.  By  it  lay  a  tiny  gold  locket,  con- 
taining a  miniature.  Not  doubting  but  that  this 
belonged  to  the  occupant  of  the  cabin,  Fred  snatched 
it  up,  thinking  she  might  value  it,  and  turned  to 
look  for  its  owner.  She  was  not  in  the  cabin — he 
saw  that  at  a  glance.  The  door  of  an  adjoining 
state-room  lay  half  open.  It  was  no  time  for  idle 
ceremony.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  he 
dashed  it  open,  and  entered  ;  but  paused  in  invol- 
untary awe  at  the  sight  which  met  his  eyes. 

A  young  girl,  transcendently  lovely,  was  kneeling 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Her  snowy  robes  fell  in 
spotless  folds  around  her  exquisite  form  ;  the  long 
silken  tresses  fell  like  a  shower  of  rippling  sunbeams 
over  her  pearly  shoulders.  The  small  white  hands 
were  clasped  over  the  stainless  bosom,  that  rose  and 
fell  with  her  soft  breathing.  Every  trace  of  color 
had  faded  from  that  fair  face,  leaving  chtek  and 
brow  as  white  as  monumental  marble.  The  large 
blue  eyes,  calm  and  cloudless  as  mountain  lakes, 
looked  from  beneath  the  golden  lashes  as  serene  as 
the  heaven  to  which  she  seemed  about  to  ascend. 
On  that  sweet  young  face  was  a  look  of  such  rapt, 
such  sublime,  such  angelic  devotion,  that  Fred  for  a 
moment  stood,  not  daring  to  disturb  her. 

A  sudden  crash  on  deck  roused  him  from  the  spell 
into  which  he  was  falling.  Stepping  before  her,  he 
said,  hurriedly  : 

**  Madam,  everything  is  in  flames  around  you  ! 
Come  with  me,  or  you  will  be  lost." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  sprang  to  her  feet ; 
and  with  a  wild  cry  of  "  Saved  !  saved  I"  she  threw 


THB  BURNING   SHIP. 


35 


Up  both  snowy  arms,  and  would  have  fallen  fainting 
to  the  floor,  had  he  not  caught  her  in  his  embrace. 

Snatching  a  quilt  from  the  bed,  he  wrapped  it 
round  her  slight  form  and  rushed  from  the  cabin. 
To  his  unspeakable  horror,  as  he  sprang  with  one 
bound  up  the  stairway,  he  found  the  whole  deck  had 
now  become  one  vast  sheet  of  flame.  There  was  no 
time  to  lose.  Springing  like  a  wounded  panther,  he 
cleared  the  deck  with  two  bounds,  and  leaped  clean 
over  the  side  into  the  sea. 

A  wild  cheer  arose  from  the  crew  of  the  boat  at 
the  sight.  Propelled  by  strong  arms  and  willing 
hearts,  in  a  moment  it  was  by  his  side  ;  and  in 
another  he  stood  among  them,  with  his  still  insensible 
burden  in  his  arms. 

"  Pull,  men  !  pull  for  the  love  of  God  !"  he 
shouted,  waving  his  hand  in  the  air.  "  Work  for 
your  lives  !" 

Like  straws  the  strong  oars  bent  in  the  brawny 
hands  of  the  rowers,  and  like  an  arrow  sped  from  a 
bow,  the  boat  shot  out  from  the  burning  ship. 

One  moment  more,  and  it  would  have  been  too 
late.  With  a  roar  that  seemed  to  rend  heaven  and 
earth,  the  magazine  exploded,  and  the  ill-fated  ship 
was  blown  to  atoms.  Like  a  shower  of  hail,  the 
burning  spars  and  timbers  fell  all  around  them.  But 
they  were  almost  miraculously  saved  ;  the  boat  es- 
caped uninjured,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  entirely  out 
of  danger. 

Every  one  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  from  the  most 
callous  and  hardened  heart  present  went  up  a  prayer 
of  thanksgiving  for  their  unexpected  deliverance 
from  death. 

Fred  seated  himself,  and  throwing  off  the  quilt  in 
which   he  had  enveloped   the  slender  form  of  the 


86 


THE   BURNING   SHIP. 


Ill 


young  girl,  began  to  chafe  her  cold  hands  ana 
temples. 

"  Had  this  young  lady  no  friends  on  board,  that 
she  was  thus  forgotten,"  he  asked,  turning  to  one  of 
the  crew  of  the  Englishman. 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  when  the  vessel  caught  fire.  She 
was  returning  from  England  with  her  uncle  ;  and 
one  stormy  night,  about  a  week  ago,  he  was  washed 
overboard  and  lost.  She  never  came  up  to  the  deck 
after  that  ;  and,  in  the  hurry  and  fright,  when  the 
ship  was  found  to  be  on  fire,  we  forgot  all  about 
her." 

"  Is  «he  an  American  ?"  asked  Fred,  looking,  with 
a  feeling  for  which  he  could  not  account,  on  the  fair 
face  and  graceful  form  lying  so  still  and  lifeless  in 
his  arms. 

"Don't  know  I'm  sure,"  replied  the  man. 

All  Fred's  efforts  to  restore  her  to  consciousness 
were  in  vain.  She  lay,  in  her  snowy  drapery,  so 
still,  that  he  most  feared  life  was  extinct.  A  snow- 
wreath  was  not  more  white  than  the  colorless  face, 
off  which  the  bright  hair  fell  over  the  young  man's 
arm,  on  which  the  head  reclined.  The  tiny  hands 
imprisoned  in  his  were  cold  and  lifeless  as  maihle. 

With  a  feeling  of  intense  joy,  Fred  sprang  once 
more  upon  the  deck  of  the  privateer,  and  resigned 
the  fainting  girl  to  the  hands  of  the  surgeon,  and 
then  hasteied  to  exchange  his  wet  clothes  for  dry 
ones.  Gus,  who  had  arrived  in  the  other  boat  a  few 
moments  before,  listened  with  envy  and  amazement 
to  his  friend's  story. 

"  Well,  luck  is  everything  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
sigh,  when  his  friend  had  concluded  ;  "  if  every  ship 
in  the  British  navy  were  to  take  fire,  I  don't  believe 
I'd   have   the   good    fortune   to   save  a  single  young 


THE  BUBNIKO  SHIP. 


87 


ana 


lady  from  a  scorching  ;  while  you're  not  well  out^ 
when  you  return  with  an  angel  in  your  arms,  wring- 
ing wet,  and  never  look  any  more  elated  by  it  than 
if  you  were  a  mi-n  of  stone.  O  Fortune  !  Fortune  ? 
thou  fickle  goddess,  if  you  would  only  throw  such 
chances  in  my  way  as  is  thrown  in  the  path  of  this 
stony-hearted  cynic,  believe  me,  I  would  be  far  from 
proving  so  ungrateful." 

*'  A  very  good  speech  for  an  extempore  one,** 
observed  Fred,  as  he  coolly  lighted  a  cigar.  "And, 
by  the  way,  here  is  the  doctor,  I  must  ask  him  how 
his  fair  patient  is." 

"  Hech  !  mon,  dinna  fash  yersel*  aboot  her,  the 
young  leddy  is  doin'  vera  weel,"  observed  Sawney  ; 
"an*  fegs,  ye  ne'er  seen  sic  'n  beautiful  roses  in  a'  yer 
life  as  cam  in  her  cheek  when  I  tauld  her  aboot  the 
canny  chiel  that  plucked  her,  as  it  were,  a  brand  frae 
the  burnin'.  Hoot !  Mr.  Stanley,  ne'er  try  to  look 
sae  dignified  ;  d'ye  think  I  dinna  see  the  smile  in  yer 
black  e*e.  If  yer  no  prood  o'  savin*  the  life  o'  sic  a 
handsome  leddy,  ye  dinna  deserve  to  hear  the  mes- 
sage she  has  sent  ye." 

"  A  message  for  me  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  with  an 
impetuosity  that  brought  a  sudden  crimson  to  his 
dark  cheek. 

"  Aye,  mon  !  a  message  to  ye,  deil  a  less.  And 
what  for  wudna  she  ?     Did  ye  no  save  her  life  ?'* 

"  But  the  message  !  the  message  !"  exclaimed  Fred, 
impatiently. 

"  Oo  !  ay  !  the  message  !  jist  sae  !  *  Tell  him,*  says 
she,  an'  soul  o'  me  !  she  lookit  sae  bonnie  wi'  her 
blue  e'e  and  her  gowden  locks  as  she  said  it,  that  I'd 
a  gi'en  a  hunder'  pounds  to  hae  been  ye  at  the  time." 

"  But  the  message  !  the  message  !  the  message  !** 
cried  Fred,  losing  all  patience. 


i;     i 


38 


TiiK  iiURNiNci  snir. 


"And  she  looked  handsome,  did  she  ?*'  inquired 
GiJS,  as  he  noticed  the  impatience  of  iiis  friend. 

"  Hech  !  ye  may  say  that,  hiddie.  Deil  a  bonnier 
las  ivir  I  clapt  my  ain  twa  een  on.  An'  a  doot  if  she 
winna  load  him  wi' compliments  when  he  ca's  to  see 
her,  judgin'  frae  the  message.  I'm  mair  nor  half 
sartin  that — " 

"But,"  shouted  Fred,  in  his  irritation  seizing  the 
doctor  by  the  shoulder,  and  wheeling  him  round  like 
a  top,  "  what  was  the  message,  you  old  son  of  Galen  ?'* 

"  Hech,  sirs  !  Laird  protect  us  !  who  ivir  heerd 
mair  nor  that  ?  "  gasped  the  little  doctor,  panting 
for  breath,  whicli  his  extempore  waltz  had  nearly 
shaken  out  of  his  body;  "  spinnin*  a  respectable 
auld  body  lek  me  roun'  as  if  1  was  a  tap.  *Twad  na 
be  every  laddie  wad  dae  sic  a  dirty  trick.  Hech  ! 
I'm  fairly  oot  o'  breath." 

"  It's  excessively  aggravating,  no  doubt,"  said  Gus, 
soothingly,  "  but  you  must  pardon  my  unhappy 
young  friend  here,  he  is  a  little  flighty  at  times,  but 
perfectly  harmless — " 

Fred  groaned. 

" — But  when  very  impatient,"  continued  Gus, 
secretly  enjoying  his  friend's  despair,  "  he  is  rather 
violent.  Therefore,  ray  dear  doctor,  you  had  better 
tell  him  the  young  lady's  message — when  I  have  no 
doubt,  these  alarming  symptoms  will  vanish." 

"Oo,  ay  !  just  so  I"  said  the  doctor,  retreating  a 
few  paces  from  Fred,  and  eying  liim  as  one  might 
a  half-tamed  tiger;  "she  said  that  ony  time  this 
afternoon  that  wad  be  conveniant,  she  wad  be  maist 
happy  to  see  ye  in  the  kabbin  below.     That's  a'." 

And  the  little  doctor  went  off  muttering  "  Gude 
puitect  us  !  wha  wad  think  sic  a  douce  young  laddie 


THE  BURNING   fiHIP. 


89 


as  that  was  nae  richt  aboot  the  upper  warks? 
Weel,  weel,  Laird  save  us  !" 

"An  interview  !"  exclaimed  Gus,  with  delight, 
"  by  Jove  !  Fred,  you  are  in  luck.  I  can  forsee  it  all 
— private  interview — lady  all  blushes  and  gratitude 
— gentleman  all  admiration  and  compliments — see 
each  other  every  day  while  on  board — grow  as  thick 
as  pickpockets — moonlight  interview — gentleman 
grows  tender — lady  refers  him  to  papa — papa  informs 
him  she's  not  his  daughter  at  all,  but  a  princess  in 
disguise,  with  large  estates  in  a  land  yet  undis- 
covered— matrimony — champagne,  ice-creams,  wax- 
lights,  roses,  pretty  girl's  kisses — bride  an  angel 
without  wings — bridegroom  in  the  seventh  heaven — 
whew  !  there's  the  whole  thing  in  a  nut-shell.  A 
novel  condensed." 

Fred  bit  the  end  of  his  cigar  to  conceal  a  smile. 

"  I'd  give  a  trifle  to  know  her  name,''  continued 
Gus  ;  *'  it's  a  wonder  none  of  the  crew  of  the  vessel 
knew  it.  Heigho  !  I  suppose  I  must  restrain  my 
impatience  until  after  the  interview  she  has  promised 
you." 

Fred,  though  appearing  outwardly  indifferent,  felt 
little  less  anxiety  for  the  interview  than  his  friend. 

Having  made  himself  very  unnecessarily  hand- 
some, by  a  most  careful  toilet,  he  desired  the  little 
doctor  to  inform  the  lady  he  was  ready  to  wait 
upon  her. 

"  Walk  doon  !  walk  doon,  laddie,"  said  Galen, 
presently  re-appearing,  '*  and  for  the  love  o*  Hea- 
ven !"  he  added,  suddenly  remembering  Fred's  con- 
duct in  the  morning,  "dinna  be  ony  way  violent. 
Laird  save  me  !  what  wad  the  puir  lassie  do  if  ye 
took  ane  o*  thaim  tantrums  in  her  presence  ?" 

Fred  having  pledged  his  word  to  conduct  himself. 


40 


THE  BURNING  SHIP. 


1      1 


||i 


25 


while  before  the  lady,  with  due  decorum,  the  doctor 
bowed  him  into  the  cabin,  which  the  captain  had 
generously  given  up  to  his  fair  captive,  and,  having 
announced  him  as  being  "  the  laddie  that  had  ta'en 
her  oot  o*  the  burnin'  ship,"  made  his  best  salute, 
and  retired. 

The  lady,  who  was  seated  by  the  table,  arose 
as  Fred  entered,  and  advancing  toward  him,  extended 
her  hand.  The  youth  imagined  she  looked  even 
fairer  now  than  when  he  had  first  seen  her.  The 
bright,  golden  tresses  were  pushed  off  her  fair  brow, 
and  gathered  into  a  burnished  knot  behind,  thus 
displaying  the  exquisite  symmetry  of  the  superb 
little  head.  She  was  still  pale  from  the  effects  of  her 
recent  fright ;  but  Fred  thought  he  had  never 
beheld  a  fairer  face  in  all  his  life. 

"  My  preserver,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you  for  sav- 
ing me  from  such  a  fearful  death,"  said  the  softest, 
sweetest  voice  in  the  world.  And  raising  the  hand 
she  held  in  hers,  she  bent  her  graceful  head,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

The  act,  simple  and  natural  as  it  was,  brought  a 
sudden  flush  to  Fred's  face. 

"  I  need  no  thanks,  fairest  lady,  for  perfo~ming  a 
common  act  of  humanity,"  he  said,  bowing.  **  He 
would,  indeed,  be  a  monster  who  would  not  endeavor 
to  rescue  a  fellow-creature  from  death." 

**  Oh  !  it  was  fearful  !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  *'  to  stay 
there  alone,  expecting  momentary  death.  It  seemed 
to  me  impossible  I  could  be  saved,  with  everything 
in  flames  around  me  !" 

She  shuddered  at  the  remembrance,  and  her  face 
grew  a  shade  paler. 

"  It  seems  wonderful  to  me  how  you  could  have 
been  forgotten  by  all,"  said  Fred. 


THE  BURNING  SHIP. 


41 


"So  it  seemed  to  me  at  first,  but  not  now.  I 
never  went  on  deck  after  the  death  of  my  dear 
uncle  " — she  paused,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears — 
"  he  was  lost  in  a  dreadful  storm,  a  week  before  you 
rescued  me.  Alas  !  this  seems  doomed  to  be  a  luck- 
less voyage." 

"  I  fear  you  will  not  like  your  quarters  here,"  said 
Fred,  glancing  around  the  narrow  and  poorly-fur- 
nished cabin,  "  it  is  hardly  in  a  fit  condition  for  the 
reception  of  a  lady." 

"  Oh  !  if  that  were  all,"  she  said,  with  a  half  sigh, 
"  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  such  a  long  time  before 
I  can  reach  home." 

"  I  too,  have  longed  for  the  end  of  this  voyage," 
said  Fred,  "  but  now  the  time  will  appear  all  too 
short." 

She  looked  up  suddenly,  to  find  the  deep,  dark 
eyes  of  the  speaker  fixed  upon  her  with  a  look  of 
profound  admiration.  For  a  moment,  the  golden 
lashes  dropped  over  the  blue  eyes,  and  a  vivid  crim- 
son, whether  of  anger  or  embarrassment  he  knew 
not,  mantled  her  pale  cheeks. 

Her  manner  during  the  remainder  of  the  interview 
was  so  cold  and  constrained,  that  he  felt  sure  he  had 
offended,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  vexation,  he  arose 
and  took  his  leave. 

Fred's  dreams,  that  night,  were  haunted  by  a  pair 
of  blue  eyes,  that  one  moment  smiled  upon  him — the 
next,  were  turned  coldly  away.  Once  again,  in  fancy, 
he  was  rescuing  their  owner  from  the  flames,  and 
bearing  her  off  in  triumph  in  his  arms,  when  he 
awoke  to  the  dull  reality  that  he  was  clasping,  most 
affectionately,  the  pillow  ! 

As  he  dressed,  before  going  on  deck,  he  suddenly 
remembered  he  had  neglected  to  ask  the  young  lady 


42 


THE  BURNING   SHIP. 


her  name.  Was  there  ever  such  stupidity  ?  Then  it 
orrurred  to  him  that  he  had  a  locket  belonging  to  her, 
and  opening  it,  he  discovered  that  it  contained  the 
miniature  of  the  fair  unknown  herself. 

Now,  Mr.  Stanley,  though  by  no  means  given  in 
general  to  retaining  other  people's  property,  imme- 
diately experienced  a  most  felonious  desire  to  keep 
the  locket.  Accordingly,  placing  it  as  near  his  heart 
as  was  convenient,  he  hastily  added  a  few  finishing 
touches  to  his  costume,  and  went  on  deck. 

And  when  he  had  reached  it,  a  sight  met  his  eyes 
that  transfixed  him  with  amazement.  For  there, 
promenading  the  deck,  and  leaning  most  affection- 
ately on  the  arm  of  Gus,  was  the  fair  unknown.  The 
morning  breeze  had  brought  a  deep  rose-hue  to  the 
pearly  cheeks  ;  her  eyes  were  bright  with  pleasure, 
and  smiles  were  chasing  the  dimples  over  her  fair, 
sunshiny  face.  And  there  was  Gus  bending  over  her, 
in  a  way  for  which  Fred  could  have  shot  him  with- 
out remorse,  calling  up  her  smiles  and  blushes  at  his 
own  magnetic  will. 

No  wonder  Fred  was  amazed,  angry,  mortified. 
He  had  saved  her  life  almost  at  the  risk  of  his  own  :  , 
and,  because  he  had  uttered  a  few  gallant  words,  she  , 
had  grown  as  distantly  reserved  and  dignified  as  a 
queen  on  her  throne.  And  here  was  Gus  Elliott, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before,  now  her  elected 
chai*jpion,  and,  to  judge  by  appearances,  something 
more  than  a  friend. 

As  they  passed,  both  looked  up  and  recognized  him, 
she  by  a  formal  bow,  and  Gus  by  a  smile  of  triumph. 
With  the  air  of  an  insulted  prince,  Fred  turned  aside, 
and  strolled  in  an  opposite  direction,  with  the  firm 
conviction  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  ^^'orld  but 
ingratitude. 


M 


THE   HOME   OF   EDITH. 


43 


While  he  still  stood  absorbed  in  gloomy  thought, 
he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  hearty  slap  on  the 
shoulder.  He  looked  up  haughtily,  and  Gus  met  the 
full  light  of  his  fiery  eye. 

"  Fred  !"  he  exclaimed,  without  heeding  his  evi- 
dent anger,  "  you're  the  luckiest  dog  in  creation  ! 
Guess  whom  you've  saved  ?" 

'*  Who  ?"  was  the  eager  inquiry. 

*♦  My  cousin  Edith,  the  eldest  daughter  of  my  uncle^ 
Major  Percival." 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    HOME   OF    EDITH. 


**  Where  is  the  heart  that  has  not  bowed 
A  slave,  eternal  love,  to  thee  ? 
Look  on  the  cold,  the  gay,  the  proud — 
And  is  there  one  among  them  free  ?" 

— Landon. 

It  was  a  dark,  unpleasant  night — nearly  a  fort- 
night after  the  adventure  of  the  burning  ship.  The 
privateer  was  still  cruising  about  in  quest  of  "  Brit- 
ishers," whom  the  captain  was  particularly  anxious 
to  "send  to  tnunder  !" — as  he  himself  elegantly 
expressed  it.  During  this  time,  Fred's  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Percival  hardly  progressed  as  rapidly  as 
Gus  had  prophesied  it  would.  There  was  a  sort  ot 
embarrassment,  a  coldness,  a  reserve,  in  her  manner 
toward  him,  tliat  offended  his  sensitive  pride;  and 
their  intercourse  now  generally  consisted  oi  a  bow, 
when  they  met,  and  a  formal  **  good  day.'*  Though 
she  spent  the  greater  part  of  each  day  with  Gus,  on 


u 


THE   HOME   OF  EDITH. 


n  /: 


deck,  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  meeting  him  ;  and 
Fred,  seeing  this,  studiously  avoided  her.  Yet  some- 
times, suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  would  find  those 
soft  blue  eyes  wandering  wistfully  over  to  where  he 
stood,  yet  always  dropping  before  his  ;  while  her 
rising  color  and  averted  head  betokened  emotions 
she  would  fain  have  concealed. 

Wrapped  in  his  cloak,  with  his  hat  drawn  down 
over  his  brows,  Fred  paced  up  and  down  the  deck 
in  no  very  amiable  frame  of  mind.  It  was  a  dense, 
gloomy  night.  The  storm-clouds  were  drifting,  dark 
and  threatening,  over  the  leaden  sky  ;  a  chill,  raw 
wind  was  blowing,  piercingly  cold — sighing,  dirge- 
like, through  the  rigging,  while  the  creaking  of  the 
cordage  seemed  to  chant  back  a  sort  of  dismal 
refrain  ;  a  thick  rain  was  falling,  making  everything 
wet  and  uncomfortable.  It  was  indeed  suicidal 
weather,  but  perfectly  congenial  to  the  thoughts 
passing  through  the  mind  of  the  tall,  cloaked  figure 
pacing  so  restlessly  to  and  fro. 

At  times,  sounds  of  song  and  peals  of  laughter  would 
come  floating  up  from  the  cabin,  where  old  Dr.  Kirk, 
Captain  Harden,  Gus,  and  Miss  Percival  were  assem- 
bled. These  sounds  were  to  Fred's  feelings  like  **  vine- 
gar upon  nitre  ;"  and  his  lip  curled  scornfully  and  bit- 
terly whenever  he  passed.  Suddenly  the  mention  of 
his  own  name  arrested  his  steps.  Some  secret  power 
held  him,  as  it  were,  forcibly  to  the  spot,  to  listen. 

"  Where's  Stanley  ?"  inquired  Captain  Harden. 

"  Keeping  sentry  on  deck,  no  dou'jt,"  answered 
Gus,  "  according  to  his  usual  custom.  I'll  wager  a 
guinea  that  quick,  excited  tread  we  heard  a  moment 
ago,  was  Fred  walking  up  and  down." 

"  Maister  Stanley's  a  queer  sort  o'  a  lad,"  observed 
the  doctor.     **I  ne'er  cam  across  ane  sae  proud  in  a' 


THE   HOME   OF   EDITH. 


45 


my  days.  T'ither  day  he  was  stannin*  lookin'  sae 
dooer  and  sulky,  by  himsel'  that  I  didna  think  hem 
well,  and  I  recommended  a  dose  o'  peells.  Well, 
instead  o'  thankin'  me,  as  a  body  ought,  h^  glowered 
at  me  a  minute,  as  if  he  thought  me  mad,  and  walked 
off  wi'  himsel*  without  sayin'  a  word.  Hech,  sirs  ! 
dell  a  more  thanks  I  got  I" 

Gus  couldn't  help  laughing  ;  but  he  observed  : 

"Oh,  you  must  excuse  him,  doctor!  Fred  has 
some  queer  notions  ;  but,  in  general,  he  *s  a  capital 
fellow — brave  as  a  lion,  but  proud  as  Lucifer." 

"What  is  your  opinion,  Miss  Percival,  of  the  gen- 
tleman now  under  discussion  ?"  inquired  Captain 
Harden. 

Oh,  what  would  not  Fred  have  given  to  hear  the 
reply  !  Miss  Percival's  low,  musical  voice  had  hith- 
erto possessed  an  unspeakable  charm  for  him  ;  but 
now  he  would  not  have  objected  had  it  been  as  loud 
as  the  boatswain's  so  that  he  might  have  heard  the 
answer  ;  but,  though  he  strained  every  nerve  to  listen, 
he  could  not  catch  her  words. 

"  That's  just  like  Edith,"  observed  Gus.  "  Hasn't 
*  formed  an  opinion,'  indeed  !  As  if  any  young  lady 
could  meet  such  a  good-looking  fellow  as  Fred  with- 
out forming  an  opinion  about  him.  He  reminds  me 
wonderfully  of  the  old  woman  in  the  song."  And 
Gus  drawled,  in  a  sing-song  tone  : 

"  There  was  an  old  woman — and  what  do  you  think  ? 
She  lived  upon  nothing  but  victuals  and  drink — 
Victuals  and  drink  was  the  whole  of  her  diet — 
And  yet  this  old  woman  could  never  be  quiet." 

If  Gus  had  seen  the  fiery  flash  of  Fred's  eye,  at 
that  moment,  he  might  have  hesitated  a  little  about 
the  comparison. 


46 


THE  HOME  OP  EDITH. 


in 


li 


ii 


\\ 


I 


11* 


"  I  dinna  see  how  Maister  Stanley's  like  that  auld 
wumman,"  said  the  doctor,  solemnly. 

"  Why,  my  dear  doctor,  it's  as  clear  as  mud,"  said 
Gus.  "  Fred,  like  the  old  lady  in  the  rhyme,  *  never 
is  quiet.'  It's  a  perfect  martyrdom  to  a  serious  per- 
son like  myself,  to  be  with  one  as  restless  as  an  uneasy 
conscience,  and  as  fiery  as  one  of  your  own  Scotch 
Douglases." 

Fred  had  not  waited  to  hear  this  explanation  ;  but 
wrapping  himself  more  closely  in  his  cloak,  resumed 
his  solitary  march  up  and  down — the  loud  mirth  and 
laughter  from  the  cabin,  amid  which  at  times  he 
could  recognize  the  silvery  voice  of  Edith — giving 
added  bitterness  to  his  thoughts.  Poor  Fred  !  Like 
the  country  swain  in  love,  he  felt  "  hot  and  dry  like, 
with  a  pain  in  his  side  like  ;"  and  like  every  other 
young  gentleman  when  he  first  falls  in  love,  torment- 
ing himself  witH  a  thousand  imaginary  evils — until, 
as  Gus  phrased  it,  there  was  "  no  standing  him." 

Upon  their  arrival  in  Boston,  Fred  would  have 
started  immediately  to  see  his  father  ;  but  Gus,  who 
was  to  accompany  Edith  home,  urged  him  to  go  with 
them.  And  Edith  pleaded  too — more  with  her  eager, 
blushing  face  and  eloquent  eyes,  than  with  words. 

"  Doj  Mr.  Stanley,"  she  urged,  laying  her  little 
white  hand  on  his  own — "  do  come  !  Papa  will  be 
so  anxious  to  see  one  who  has  saved  his  daughter's 
life." 

Every  nerve  thrilled  at  that  magnetic  touch  ;  but 
still  he  stood  irresolute. 

"  Please^  M*-.  Stanley,"  continued  that  low,  musical 
voice — to  his  ear  the  sweetest  he  had  ever  heard  ; 
and  the  starry  eyes  were  raised  to  the  face  above 
her. 

Fred  looked  down,  to  encounter  those  pleading 


ii 


) 


THE   HOME   OF   EDITH. 


47 


blue  eyes  raised  so  earnestly  to  his  ;  and — just  asyou 
would  have  done,  my  dear  sir,  had  you  been  in  his 
place — surrendered. 

The  residence  of  Major  Percival  was  several  miles 
from  the  city  ;  and  after  spending  one  night  at  a 
hotel,  the  trio  started  next  morning. 

The  drive  to  Percival  Hall  was  always  remem- 
bered by  Fred  among  the  happiest  moments  of  his 
life.  TV  2  cold  reserve  which  Edith  had  always  main- 
tained on  shipboard  had  entirely  vanished.  An 
almost  childish  glee  at  being  once  more  at  home  had 
taken  its  place,  and  she  chatted  and  laughed  with  a 
freedom  and  vivacity  that  completely  finished  poor 
Fred. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  road  brought  Ihem,  at 
length,  in  sight  of  Percival  Hall.  An  avenue  of 
stately  horse-chestnuts  led  up  to  the  Hall  itself — an 
imposing-looking  structure  of  red  brick.  Behind  the 
house  was  an  extensive  orchard,  and  nearer  still,  a 
pretty  flower-garden. 

"  There's  papa — there's  papa  !*'  exclaimed  Edith, 
springing  up  and  clapping  her  hands  ;  and  before 
Fred,  who  had  risen,  could  assist  her,  she  had  leaped 
out,  and  flew  into  the  arms  of  an  elderly  gentleman, 
who  came  humming  carelessly  down  the  steps  in 
front  of  the  mansion. 

While  the  major  with  many  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  delight,  embraced  his  daughter,  Fred 
scrutinized  him  from  head  to  foot. 

Jn  stature  he  was  about  middle  size,  stout,  and 
squarely  built,  with  prominent  features  and  high 
cheek-bones.  There  was  an  air  of  sternness  and 
command  about  him,  while  the  firmly-closed  mouth 
betrayed  unusual  obstinacy  in  following  his  own 
opinions.     The   high,  broad    forehead   and    massive 


'I  i:i 


48 


THE  HOME  OF   EDITH. 


head  displayed  a  lofty  intellect ;  and  there  was  a 
piercing  keenness  in  the  gaze  of  his  sharp  grey  eyes, 
that  gave  an  observer  the  uncomfortable  sensation 
that  he  was  reading  their  inmost  thoughts. 

He  now  advanced  toward  the  young  man,  who  had 
alighted,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  Fred,  said  with 
grateful  courtesy  : 

"  My  daughter  tells  me,  sir,  you  have  saved  her 
life.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  making  fine  speeches  ; 
but  believe  me,  sir,  the  heartfelt  gratitude  of  an  old 
man  will  ever  follow  you." 

Fred  bowed  in  silence.  r 

"And  don't  you  know  this  young  gentlcT.an, 
papa?"  said  Edith,  with  an  arch  glance  toward  Gus. 

"  I  have  not  that  hon — eh  ?"  he  added,  suddenly — 
"  can  it  be  ?  Bless  my  soul  I  Gus  Elliott,  is  this 
yourself  ?"  and  the  major  seized  his  hand  with  a  grip 
of  iron. 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Gus,  with  a  grimace,  "  if  ever  I 
had  any  doubts  on  the  subject,  the  aching  of  my 
fingers,  at  present,  has  convinced  me  I  am  myself, 
and  no  mistake." 

"Well,  well,  well  ["exclaimed  the  major,  surveying 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  his  sharp  eyes,  "  how  you 
have  shot  up  since  I  saw  you  last  !  And  you're  Gus 
EUioti !  Well,  who'd  have  thought  it  ?  Edith  !  Ah, 
she  has  gone,  I  see.  Walk  up,  gentlemen — walk  up. 
Mrs.  Percival  will  be  delighted  to  see  you," 

So  saying,  Major  Percival  ran  up  the  steps,  fol*^ 
lowed  by  the  two  young  men.  The  long  hall  was 
flanked  by  doors  on  either  side  ;  and  opening  one  of 
these,  he  ushered  the  twain  into  the  family  sitting- 
room.  Here  tliey  found  Edith  clasped  in  the  arms 
of  a   handsome,  middle-aged  lady  ;  while   a   young 


THE   HOME  OF  EDITH. 


49 


jrip 


girl  stood  by  her  side,  alternately  laughing  and  cry- 
ing. 

"  My  wife,  and  daughter  Ellen,  Mr.  Stanley.  I 
suppose,"  he  added,  smilingly,  to  his  wife,  "  Edith 
has  told  you  all  about  the  achievements  of  this  prom- 
ising young  gentleman.  There,  there — don't  over- 
whelm him  with  thanks.  I  see  by  his  countenance 
he  doesn't  like  it !  Come,  Nell — why  don't  you 
thank  your  sister's  deliverer  ?" 

"  Mamma  won't  give  me  a  chance,"  replied  Nell— 
a  lively,  dark-eyed  girl,  with  pretty,  restless  features. 
**  She  has  monopolized  Mr.  Stanley  all  to  herself." 

"  Weil,  there,  I'll  resign  him  to  you,  sauce-box," 
said  Mrs.  Percival,  smiling,  "  though  I  imagine  Mr. 
Stanley  will  soon  tire  of  your  everlasting  chattering." 

**  Here  is  some  one  else  you  have  not  seen  yet, 
Nell,"  said  her  sister,  glancing  at  Gus,  who  now 
advanced. 

"  Why,  can  it — no,  it — yes,  it — why,  I  declare  its 
Gus  !"  exclaimed  Nell,  as  she  darted  forward,  and 
without  ceremony  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  Dear  me  !  Ellen,  that's  shockingly  improper  con- 
duct !"  said  the  highly-scandalized  Mrs.  Percival. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  nico  !"  exclaimed  Nell,  as  she  came 
dancing  back,  with  cheeks  and  eyes  all  aglow. 
"We'll  have  such  good  times,  now  you  and  'Dith 
have  come  back  !" 

"Where  is  Nugent,  mamma  ?"  inquired  Edith. 

"  He  went  away  with  Ralph  De  Lisle,  about  a 
week  ago,  my  dear,"  replied  her  mother.  "  We 
expect  them  both  home  again  in  a  few  days." 

The  name  seemed  to  act  like  a  galvanic  shock  on 
Edith,  who  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  flushed  to  the 
temples. 

"  And  oh,  Edith !"   exclaimed  her  voluble  sister — 


60 


THE   HOME  OF   EDITH. 


';      I 


Im 


*'  you  ought  to  see  Ralph  since  you  left  him  to  wear 
the  willow.  Poor  fellow  !  he  was  such  a  victim  to 
*  green  and  yellow  melancholy'  for  a  week  after 
that,  I  couldn't  bear  to  look  at  him.  My  !  won't  he 
be  glad  to  hear  you've  come  back — and  so  will  I, 
too,  for  I  do  long  for  a  wedding  dreadfully." 

"Ellen  !"  said  her  mother,  reprovingly. 

*•  Oh,  well,  mamma,  there's  nobody  here  that 
doesn't  know  all  about  it,"  said  the  chauer-box. 
*'  But,  dear  me  !  Mr.  Stanley,  ain't  you  well  ? — you 
look  like  a  ghost  !" 

Edith,  who  had  been  gazing  steadfastly  out  of  the 
window,  now  turned  suddenly  round  ;  and  Fred 
started  at  seeing  the  deadly  paleness  of  her  face. 

"  Ring  the  bell,  Edith,  for  a  glass  of  water,"  said 
Nell.  "Why,  I  declare  you're  as  bad  yourself,"  she 
added,  suddenly  confronting  her.  "Just  look, 
mamma,  how  pale  they  both  are  !  I'm  afraid  it's 
catching.  Do  /  look  pale  ?"  And  the  serious 
expression  of  Nell,  as  she  glanced  at  her  own  bloom- 
ing face  in  the  glass,  was  truly  laughable. 

But  the  color  that  had  faded  from  the  face  of  both 
speedily  returned.  The  eyes  of  Fred  and  Edith  met ; 
and  before  that  penetrating  glance  hers  fell,  while  a 
vivid  crimson  mantled  cheek  and  brow. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  the  nsme  of 
Ralph  De  Lisle  was  frequently  mentioned  by  all 
save  Edith,  who  seemed  to  shrink  painfully  from  the 
subject.  From  what  he  heard,  Fred  judged  De  Lisle 
was  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Edith — and  what  was 
more,  a  favored  one. 

When  Fred  retired  that  night,  it  was  with  no  very 
pleasant  feelings.  Who  and  what  was  this  De  Lisle? 
Ke  asked  himself  the  question  repeatedly,  without 
much  hope  of  obtaining  an  answer.     His  resolution 


THE   HOME  OF  EDITH. 


51 


was  to  see  Gus  alone  ;  and,  if  possible,  obtain  from 
him  an  explanation,  without  exciting  suspicion  as  to 
the  state  of  his  own  feelings.  If,  as  he  feared,  he 
was  indeed  beloved  by  her,  then  he  himself  would 
immediately  depart,  and  see  her  no  more. 

The  next  day  an  opportunity  occurred.  Fred  and 
Gus  found  themselves  separated  from  the  others, 
and  straying  arm  in  arm  through  the  garden. 

"Who  is  this  Ralph  De  Lisle,  about  whom  they  all 
appear  to  be  so  anxious  ?"  inquired  Fred,  with 
affected  carelessness,  unconscious  that  he  was  root- 
ing up  the  violets  with  his  cane. 

"A  suitor  of  Edith's,  I  believe,"  replied  Gus, 
indifferently. 

"  Ah  !  and  a  favored  one,  if  I  may  judge." 

"  Hum  !  I  should  think  so — they're  to  be  married 
in  a  few  weeks." 

There  was  no  response  from  his  companion,  and 
Gus  went  on  : 

"  The  father  of  this  De  Lisle  was  a  Frenchman, 
and  the  intimate  friend  of  Major  Percival.  When 
dying,  he  committed  his  son  to  his  care,  with  a 
request  that  Edith  and  Riilph,  who  had  always  been 
firm  friends,  should  be  united,  if  they  were  willing, 
when  his  son  attained  his  majority.  Major  Percival 
promised  him  that  his  request  should  be  fulfilled  ; 
and  his  word  with  him  is  law  unalterable.  The 
young  couple  love  one  another,  it  seems  ;  so  their 
*  course  of  true  love  *  runs  smoothly  enough. 
Edith  wished  to  visit  some  friends  of  hers  in  Eng- 
land before  she  became  Mrs.  De  Lisle,  and  she  was 
returning  home  when  you  rescued  her  from  the 
burning  ship." 

"  Better,  far  better,  I  had  left  her  to  perish  there  !" 


59 


THE   HOME  OF  EDITH. 


H 


was  the  bitter  thought  that  passed  through  Fred's 
mind. 

"  De  Lisle  is  an  immense  favorite  with  the  major," 
continued  Gus  :  "  some  say  he  appears  fonder  of  him 
even  than  of  his  own  son.  He  is  the  leader  of  a 
gang  of  tories,  and  a  tory  himself  to  the  core  of  his 
heart.  But  here  comes  Nell — breezy  and  airy  as 
ever." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Stanley  !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  came 
flying  up  to  him,  **  we  are  going  to  have  a  sailing 
party  to-morrow,  and  you  must  be  sure  to  come. 
So,  if  you  have  any  engagement  for  that  day,  you 
may  just  break  it  at  once." 

"I  regret  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  comply,"  said 
Fred,  gravely.     •*  I  must  depart  to-morrow." 

"  Depart  for  where  ?"  demanded  Gus,  surprised  at 
this  sudden  announcement. 

"  To  see  my  father.  I  should  have  gone  before 
could  I  have  broken  the  spell  that  bound  me  here '" 
and  he  bowed  to  Nell. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Mr.  Stanley  !"  exclaimed  that 
young  lady.  "  You  sha'n't  go,  and  that's  the  end  of 
it.  Your  father  can  wait  a  day  or  two  very  well. 
Sister,  come  here,  and  persuade  Mr.  Stanley  to  stay. 
He's  going  away,  he  says." 

"  Going  away  !"  echoed  Edith,  growing  pale  as 
she  spoke. 

"  But  we  positively  won't  allow  it,  until  after 
to-morrow,  at  least — shall  we,  sister  ?  Coax  him  like 
a  good  girl,  while  I  have  a  race  with  Carlo — he's 
pulling  the  dress  off  my  back.  You're  such  a  good 
hand  to  persuade  people,  you  know.  I  remember, 
when  De  Lisle  used  to  be  leaving,  how  you  would 
coax  him  to  stay.     Come,  Carlo  !" 

Again  Edith  started  at  the  abrupt  mention  of  that 


W 


fji*' 


f 


'.A 


THE   HOME   OF  EDITH. 


58 


•* 


name,  and  the  subdued  liglit  that  had  filled  Fred's 
eye  as  he  watched  her  changing  face,  gave  place  to 
a  look  of  cold  determination.  Gus  urged  him  press- 
ingly  to  remain,  and  Edith's  eyes  were  raised  plead- 
ingly to  his  face  as  she  faltered  out  a  similar  request. 
But  their  entreaties  were  in  vain.  Fred  declined 
politely  but  firmly,  and  entered  the  house  to 
announce  his  determination  to  Major  Percival  and 
his  wife.  Here,  as  he  expected,  he  was  again  over- 
whelmed with  entreaties  to  remain  ;  but  having 
resisted  those  of  Edith,  he  found  little  difficulty  in 
remaining  firm  in  his  determination. 

"At  least,  then,  you  will  soon  visit  us  again  ?" 
urged  Mrs.  Percival,  when  she  found  all  her  entreaties 
of  MO  avail. 

To  rid  himself  of  their  importunities,  Fred 
promised  ;  and  early  the  next  morning,  he  was  off. 

The  family  was  all  assembled  on  the  front  piazza, 
to  say  good-bye — all  but  Edith. 

"  Where's  Edith  ?"  inquired  the  major,  as  he,  too, 
missed  her. 

"She  had  a  bad  headache  this  morning,  and 
couldn't  leave  her  room,"  replied  Nell,  to  whom  the 
question  was  addressed.  **  It's  strange,  too!  I  never 
knev/  her  to  have  the  headache  before." 

She  glanced  demurely  at  Fred,  who  was  shaking 
hands  with  her  father ;  and  there  was  a  world  of 
meaning  in  her  bright  eyes. 

**  Well,  good-bye,  Miss  Ellen,"  he  said,  approaching 
her,  "until  we  meet  again.  Remember  me  to  your 
sister." 

He  bowed,  sprang  into  the  carriage,  and  drove  off, 
quite  unconscious  that  from  her  chamber-window 
the  eyes  of  Edith  were  watching  him  until  he  dis- 
appeared. 


64 


FATHER  AND  SON, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FATHER   AND   SON. 

*  Fathers  have  flinty  hearts,  no  prayers 
Can  move  them." — Shakespeare. 


;  r  \ 


It  was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  a  pier -ant 
summer's  day.  The  sun  was  lust  sinking  behind  the 
western  hill-tops,  when  a  carriage  rattled  along  the 
dusty  streets,  and  stopped  before  a  plain  but  com- 
modious-looking dwelling. 

A  young  man,  tall  and  handsome,  sprang  out  ; 
andj  turning  to  tho  servant,  whom  the  wheels  had 
brought  out,  demanded  : 

"  Does  Sir  William  Stanley  live  here  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  he  at  home  now  ?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"  Yes,  sir.** 

"  Alone  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  show  me  to  his  room.  I  wish  to  see  him 
immediately." 

"But,  sir,  really,"  stammered  the  man,  "Sir 
William  dislikes  to  be  intruded  upon.  If  you  will 
give  me  your  name,  I  will  announce  you." 

"  My  good  fellow,  I'll  not  put  you  to  so  much 
trouble.  Just  show  me  to  his  room,  and  I'll  take  the 
consequences." 

Hurried  away  by  the  impatient  and  commanding 
manner  of  the  young  man,  the  domestic,  sorely 
against  his  will,  was  forced  to  obey.  Preceding  the 
impudent  stranger  (as  he  considered  him)  to  the 
library,  he  opened  the  door,  and  ushered  him  into 


FATHER  AND   SON. 


55 


the  "  presence,"  and  imn^ediately  beat  a  precipitate 
retreat, 

A  tall,  stately  man,  of  middle  age  and  military 
bearing,  sat  writing  at  a  desk.  There  was  a  striking 
resemblance  between  the  two — the  same  tall,  com- 
manding figure — the  same  haughty,  aristocratic  air, 
the  same  fiery,  dark  eye.  But  the  winning  smile  that 
sometimes  gave  such  a  look  of  inexpressible  sweet- 
ness to  the  face  of  the  younger,  never  appeared  on 
the  thin,  firmly-compressed  lips  of  the  other. 

The  noise  made  by  the  opening  of  the  door  aroused 
him.  He  looked  up  quickly,  with  an  air  of  anger  at 
the  interruption  ;  but  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  young 
man's  face,  he  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  caught  him 
impetuously  by  the  hand. 

"  Fred  !  by  all  that's  lucky  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  delight,  "  when  did  you  arrive.'  I  was  just 
wishing  this  moment  that  you  were  here." 

"  I  only  reached  here  a  day  or  two  ago,"  replied 
Fred,  returning  his  cordial  grasp. 

"  And  how  are  our  friends  in  Paris  ?"  Inquired  Sir 
William. 

"  They  are  well,  sir.  I  had  several  letters  for  you 
from  them,  but  it  was  my  fate  to  be  shipwrecked,  and 
they  were,  unfortunately,  lost." 

"  Shipwrecked,"  said  the  father,  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Fred,  as  he  related  their  adven- 
tures on  sea,  omitting,  however,  that  part  concern- 
ing Edith. 

"  So,  Gus  Elliott  accompanied  yo^:,  did  he  ?" 
inquired  Sir  William,  when  he  hail  concluded, 
"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

**  At  his  uncle's,  Major  Percival's,"  replied  Fred, 
beginning  to  trace  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  with  the 
end  of  his  riding-whip. 


56 


FATHER  AND   SON. 


t^'i 


"Ah,  indeed  !  I  k.iow  his  son,  young  Percival. 
Fine  fellow,  too — fine  fellow  !  And  there's  a  friend 
of  his,  too — De  Lisle,  I  think  they  call  him,"  con- 
tinued Sir  William,  without  noticing  his  son's  sud- 
den start,  "an  example  for  half  the  young  men  in 
this  rebellious  land.  You  saw,  of  course,  the  appoint- 
ment I've  procured  for  you  in  the  army." 

"  I  did,  sir,"  said  Fred,  preparing  himself  for  the 
storm  that  was  coming. 

"  Well,  I  piusf  say,"  said  Sir  William,  surveying 
him  with  a  look  of  calm  surprise,  not  to  say  displeas- 
ure, "that  for  such  good  news  you  seem  wonderfully 
little  elated.  Why,  sir,  at  your  age,  I  would  have 
been  wild  with  delight  at  such  an  offer." 

Fred  still  sat  silent  ;  and  his  father,  after  regard- 
ing him  for  a  moment  with  a  look  of  increasing 
astonishment,  went  on  : 

**  There  are  sundry  reports  in  circulation  not  at  all 
to  your  credit,  Frederic,  and  though  I  have  always 
refused  to  believe  them,  yet  they  have  given  me  a 
great  deal  of  mortification.  It  is  now  in  your  power 
to  prove  these  reports  false,  and  enable  me  to  hear 
my  son's  name  once  more  without  blushing  for  him. 
You  will  go  immediately,  and  report  yourself  at 
headquarters." 

The  last  sentence  was  spoken  with  an  air  of  stern 
command  terribly  galling  to  Fred,  ev?n  though  com- 
ing from  the  lips  of  a  father.  His  calm,  truth- 
beaming  eye  met  that  of  his  father  unflinchingly,  as 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood  confronting  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  he  said  respectfully,  but  firmly  ; 
"  I  cannot  go." 

"  Cannet  r  repeated  Sir  William,  starting  back  in 
mingled  anger  and  amazement.    "  Good  heaven  !  is 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


57 


t» 


it  possible   these  reports  were  really  true — can  it 
be  that  my  son  is  a  coward  ?" 

"  I  am  no  coward,  sir  !"  replied  Fred,  proudly,  an 
indignant  flush  passing  over  his  face. 

"  Then,  sir,  you  are  a  traitor — a  rebel  !"  exclaimed 
Sir  William,  fiercely,  as  he  involuntarily  half-drew 
his  sword. 

"  Neither,  sir  !"  replied  Fred,  with  perfect  calm- 
ness. 

"  Then,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  are  you  ? 
cried  his  father,  passionately,  hurried  beyond  all 
bounds  by  the  young  man's  cool,  though  respectful 
demeanor. 

Fred  stood  erect,  while  his  eye  lit  up,  and  encount- 
ered fearlessly  the  angry  orbs  glaring  upon  him. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  proudly.  **  I  am  an  American  b^*^ 
birth  and  by  feeling.  I  cannot  take  up  arms,  even 
at  the  command  of  a  father,  against  my  country- 
men !" 

Sir  William  grew  ebsolutely  livid  with  passion. 

"  Ungrateful,  undutiful  wretch  !"  hu  exclaimed, 
in  a  voice  that  sounded  hoarse  and  unnatural  with 
rage  ;  •*  do  you  dare  to  reply  to  your  father  thus  ?  I 
command  you,  sir,  on  your  peril,  never  to  speak  such 
words  again.  I  tell  you,  mad-headed,  disobedient 
youth,  that  you  will — you  shall— yow  must  obey  me  ! 

Fred  stood  silent  with  his  arms  folded,  and  a  look 
of  unmistakable  determination  in  his  eye. 

"  Have  you  heard  me  ?"  exclaimed  his  father, 
striding  forward,  and  glaring  upon  him  with  his  fiery 
eyes.     "  I  say  you  shall  obey  me  !" 

"  I  hear  you,  sir  !"  replied  Fred,  calmly,  meeting 
his  gaze  with  an  unflinching  eye. 

'*  And  you  shall  heed  me,  too.  Go  immediately, 
instantly,  and  report  yourself  ;  and  by  your  bravery 


>* 


68 


FATHEK  AND   SON. 


■ « 
I 


Strive  to  atone  for  your  hot-headed  presumption. 
D'ye  hear  me,  sir  ?'* 

"  Yes,  sir." 

**  And  you  will  obey  ?" 

**  Most  decidedly,  no^  sir  !" 

"You  will  not?"  exclaimed  Sir  William,  with  a 
glance  that  might  have  annihilated  him,  it  was  so 
intensely,  scorchingly  angry. 

"  No,  sir  !" 

"  Base,  degenerate  scoundrel !  Do  you  not  dread 
a  father's  curse  ?" 

"  Not  when  my  conscience  tells  me  I  have  done  no 
wrong  to  deserve  it  !" 

"  Conscience  !"  repeated  his  father,  with  a  bitter 
sneer  ;  **  methinks  that  is  an  article  you  are  but  little 
acquainted  with.  Pray,  Sir  Parson,  have  you  ever 
heard  the  command  :  *  Honor  thy  father  ?'  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  have  heard  another  :  *  Husbands, 
love  and  cherish  your  wives  !*  Which,  in  your  estima- 
tion, sir,  has  the  greater  force  ?" 

He  spoke,  almost  without  knowing  it,  in  a  tone  of 
such  concentrated  bitterness  that  his  father  quailed 
before  him. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  fooling,"  he  said  an- 
grily.    "  Will  you  or  will  you  not  obey  me  ?" 

"  You  have  my  answer  already." 

"And  you  still  persist  in  disobeying  me  ?'* 

"  I  must,  sir,  in  this  matter." 

"  And  may  I  ask,  most  patriotic  young  man,  what 
you  intend  doing  ?"  inquired  Sir  William,  with  a 
sneer  of  withering  sarcasm. 

"  I  intend  joining  the  American  army,"  said  Fred, 
calmly. 

^*  You  doT  exclaimed  his  father,  with  flashing  eyes. 


FATHEB  AND  SON. 


69 


**  Do  you  really  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  take 
sides  against  me — your  father,  sir  ?" 

Sir  William  bit  his  lip,  and  began  to  pace  rapidly 
up  and  down.  He  saw  he  had  injured  his  own  in- 
terest by  getting  into  a  passion  ;  his  son  was  not  one 
to  be  intimidated.  Gentle  language,  he  felt,  would 
have  produced  a  much  greater  impression  ;  and  all 
unused  as  his  lips  were  to  it,  he  determined  to  try  its 
efficacy.  It  was  not  that  he  really  loved  his  son  so 
much,  although  he  did  feel  more  affection  for  him 
than  for  any  one  else  ;  but  it  was  not  in  his  selfish 
nature  to  love  any  one  much.  The  opinion  of  the 
world  was  what  he  feared  ;  he  felt  it  would  be  a  ter- 
rible humiliation  to  be  pointed  at  hereafter,  as  a  man 
whose  son  was  a  rebel  ! 

Full  of  this  idea,  he  advanced  toward  Fred,  who 
stood  watching  his  varying  countenance,  and  read- 
ing, with  his  searching  eyes,  his  very  inmost  thoughts. 

"  Frederic,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  tone,  "  I  feel  I 
have  been  wrong  in  speaking  as  I  have  done.  But 
consider  the  provocation.  You  are  my  only  child — 
the  last  descendant  of  an  ancient  house  ;  without  you 
to  perpetuate  it,  our  family  will  become  extinct. 
You  are  my  only  hope,  Frederic  ;  you  will  not  desert 
me  in  my  old  age  ?" 

What  was  begun  in  policy  ended  in  real  pathos. 
His  anger  and  reproaches  had  fallen  unheeded  ;  but 
his  last  words  went  to  the  heart  of  Fred. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  alter  my  determina- 
tion. Therefore,  cease  to  urge  me  to  do  what  duty 
forbids." 

"  Duty,  Frederic  !  Do  not  pervert  the  word.  Your 
duty  is  by  the  side  of  your  father.  Where  else  should 
a  son  be?  This  cant  about  *  freeing  your  country,* 
is  all  very   well  for  those  hare-brained  ragamuffins 


'■  1 


f^' 


ill 


ii 


60 


FATHER  AND   SON. 


who  follow  the  rebel  Washington  ;  but  does  not  be- 
come you.  Remain  with  me,  and  you  will  be  heir  to 
oneof  the  noblest  estates  in  old  England.  Persist  in 
his  mad  scheme,  and  I  shall  be  compelled  to  disin- 
herit you." 

He  commenced  to  speak  calmly  ;  but,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded, his  anger  overmastered  every  other  feeling, 
and  he  assumed  his  former  threatening  tone  of  com- 
mand toward  the  close. 

"  That  last  argument,  father,  was  the  most 
ineffectual  one  you  could  have  used,"  said  his  son, 
quietly.     "  Wealth  I  have  never  coveted." 

"  Don't  dare  to  call  me  father !"  said  the  now 
thoroughly  incensed  parent.  "You  are  henceforth 
no  son  of  mine.  I  cast  you  off.  I  disown  you  ;  and 
if  you  are  caught  fighting  for  the  rebels,  I  will  have 
you  hung  as  a  traitor,  Mark  my  words — it  is  no 
idle  threat.  And  now,  sir,  begone,  instantly  !  Never 
darken  these  doors  again  !     Away,  thou  ingrate  !" 

He  paused,  choked  with  rage.  Fred's  face  was 
deadly  pale  ;  the  words  sounded  terribly  unnatural 
and  fearful,  coming  from  a  parent's  lips. 

"  Father  !  you  do  not — you  cannot  mean — " 

"  Away,  sir  !"  repeated  Sir  William,  waving  his 
hand.  "  I  have  spoken  no  hasty  words,  to  be  repented 
of  afterward  !  I  never  threaten  what  I  do  not  intend 
to  perform  ;  and  if  ever  you  are  taken  prisoner,  I 
repeat  it,  you  shall  hang  as  high  as  Haman  !  Yes, 
sir,  I  will  keep  my  word,  though  King  George  him- 
self pleaded  for  you  ;  and  if  none  other  could  be 
found,  I  would  be  your  executioner  myself  !  You 
have  heard  me  !     Begone  !" 

Little  did  either  dream  how  soon  that  threat  was 
to  be  fulfilled. 


1 


THE   HERMIT  OF   THE   CLIFFS. 


ei 


be- 
to 
in 

;in- 


He  held  the  door  open,  and  signed  for  him  to  go. 
Without  a  word,  Fred  took  his  hat  and  quitted  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


'.fS 


THE    HERMIT    OF    7  HE   CLIFFS. 

*•  It  was  a  lonely  spot  in  which  he  dwelt ; 

Man  shunned  his  roof,  few  cared  to  ask  its  shelter; 
Not  that  the  old  man  bore  an  evil  name, 
But  that  his  house  was  lonely." — Old  Play. 

Three  days  later  Fred  sat  in  the  parlor  of  an  un- 
pretending looking  hotel,  carelessly  glancing  over  a 
newspaper,  when  a  waiter  entered,  and  announced 
"  that  a  gemman  was  'quirin*  for  him  down  stairs." 

"  For  me  ?"  repeated  Fred.     "  Who  can  it  be  ?" 

"  Dunno,  sah,"  replied  the  darkey,  fancying  the 
question  was  addressed  to  himself  ;  "  I  'spect — " 

"  Show  him  up,"  said  Fred,  cutting  short  the 
darkey's  explanation. 

In  a  few  moments,  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  with  a 
good-humored  look,  and  a  frank,  off-hand  air, 
entered.  Advancing  to  Fred,  he  held  out  his  hand, 
with  a  smile  : 

**  Mr.  Stanley,  I  believe,"  he  said,  courteously. 

**  Yes,  sir."  replied  Fred,  bowing  ;  *'  but  I  regret  to 
say  I  am  quite  ignorant  of  the  name  of — " 

"Ah  !  beg  pardon  !"  interrupted  the  new-comer. 
*'My  name  is  Nugent  Percival.  I  v/ish  I  could 
thank  you  sufficiently  for  the  inestimable  service 
you  have  rendered  us  all,  in  saving  my  sister's 
life.'* 


62 


THE   HEBMIT  OF  THE  CLIFFS. 


Fred  strove  to  effect  a  genteel  indifference,  though 
he  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  his  face. 

"  Pray  do  not  mention  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  am 
only  too  happy  to  have  had  the  opportunity  of  sav- 
ing" her.     I  trust  she  is  v/ell  ?" 

*'  Yes  ;  Edith  is  quite  well,  and  joins  most  urgently 
with  th^i  rest  of  the  family  in  inviting  you  to  return 
with  me  home.  Do  not  refuse,  Mr,  Stanley,"  he 
continued,  seeing  the  almost  haughty  expression  of 
Fred's  face;  "you  have  no  idea  how  disappointed 
they  will  all  be.  Gus  would  h_ive  accompanied  me 
here  ;  but  my  sister  Nell  positively  refused  to  let 
him  go — for  fear,  as  she  expressed  it,  he  might  get 
shipwrecked  again.'* 

Fred  smiled,  and  walked,  irresolutely,  to  the  win- 
dow. Edith  urged  him  to  return  :  his  heart  leaped 
at  the  words,  but  a  moment's  thought  convinced  him 
that  Percival  had  merely  used  the  words  as  a  matter 
of  form.  Still,  he  felt  an  inward  wish  to  go.  Some- 
thing made  him  fancy  Edith  was  not  wholly  indiffer- 
ent to  him,  and  he  longed  to  hear  her  say  so  with 
her  own  lips.  But,  then,  her  affianced,  De  Lisle? 
What  if  he  were  there  ?  Well,  even  so  it  would  be 
a  comfort  to  see  what  manner  of  man  his  rival  was. 
Still,  there  was  an  undefined  hope  that  he  was  not 
at  Percival  Hall. 

"I  hardly  know,'*  he  said,  hesitating,  "  whether  to 
intrude  a  second  time  or  not.  There  may  be  strang- 
ers— "     He  paused. 

*•  Only  the  family,"  said  Percival,  in  his  frank  way. 
"  So,  if  meeting  strangers  is  your  only  objection,  yod 
see  you  can  no  longer  refuse.  Come,  Stanley  (excuse 
my  familiarity),  you  must  come  back  with  me.  I 
have  been  threatened  v<^ith  all  manner  of  calamities 


THE    HERMIT   OP  THE   CLIFFS. 


63 


by  Nell  (who,  by  the  way,  pronounces  you  *  a  love 
of  a  man'),  if  I  did  not  bring  you." 

There  was  something  Fred  could  not  resist  in  the 
courteous,  winning  manner  of  young  Percival.  He 
resembled  Edith,  too,  far  more  than  did  her  sister  ; 
and  this,  perhaps,  was  the  secret  cause  that  drew 
Fred  toward  him. 

"Well,  since  a  lady  commands  it,  I  must  obey," 
he  said,gayly,  as  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  dark 
elf  locks.     "  When  do  you  start  ?" 

"  My  orders  are  to  wait  for  you,  sir,"  replied  Per- 
cival ;  "and  I  shall  most  assuredly  do  so,  not  having 
courage  to  brave  the  storm  I  should  meet  with,  did 
I  venture  to  return  without  you.  Therefore,  until 
you  are  ready,  I  remain  your  very  humble  servant." 

"  Then  you  are  not  likely  to  he  detained,"  said 
Fred,  "  as  I  am  like  the  soldier's  wife — ready  to 
march  on  a  moment's  warning." 

"  Very  good  !"  said  Percival  ;  "  what  say  you  to 
starting  to-morrow  ?" 

"  I  have  ao  objection,"  replied  Fred.  "  I  am  only 
spending  a  day  or  two  here,  to  kill  time." 

The  matter  being  thus  arranged,  Percival,  after 
conversing  for  a  short  time  on  ordinary  topics,  took 
his  leave.     The  next  morning  found  them  en  route. 

There  was,  we  must  confess  it,  an  unusual  throb- 
bing at  Fred's  heart,  when  he  again  encountered 
Edith.  She  was  looking  better, — more  cheerful  than 
he  had  ever  seen  her,  he  fancied — and  the  cold  reserve 
with  which  she  had  formerly  treated  him,  seemed 
entirely  forgotten  in  the  unfeigned  pleasure  with 
which  she  welcomed  hiin  back.  Fred  fancied,  or 
rather  hoped,  this  might  be  caused  by  the  prolonged 
absfince  of  De  Lisle  (who  had  not  yet  made  his 
appearance),  and  iK>ticing  the  eager  happy  look  with 


i  : 


h\ 


I 


64 


THE  HEBMIT  OF  THE  0UFF8. 


iwhich  she  met  him,  his  heai  t  leaped  with  the  wild 
hope  that  perhaps  she  loved  Aim  after  all. 

The  greeting  of  the  rest  of  the  family  was  most 
cordial,  especially  that  of  Nell.  That  young  lady 
declared  "she  hadn't  a  bit  of  fun  since  he  left  ;  that 
she  never  was  at  a  loss  for  something  to  laugh  at 
when  he  was  present ;  it  was  so  funny  to  see  him 
sitting  so  stiff  and  dignified,  looking  more  like  a  ban- 
ished prince  than  an  every-day  Christian." 

A  wf:ek  passed  rapidly  away  at  Percival  Hall. 
Rides,  drives,  and  walks  followed  each  other,  in  all 
of  which  Fred  unaccountably  found  himself  the  com- 
panion of  Edith.  Gus,  who  was  generally  at  his  wit's 
end  by  the  capricw  of  Nell,  found  enough  to  do  in 
taking  care  of  that  eccentric  young  damsel.  And 
Percival  usually  started  off  by  himself,  leaving  the 
well-satisfied  couples  behind  him  to  their  own  devices. 
There  was  a  dangerous  fascination  for  Fred  in  these 
interviews.  Sometimes,  feeling  half-ashamed  of  loit- 
ering here  in  idleness,  when  duty  called  him  else- 
where, he  would  resolve  to  depart  immediately  ;  but 
days  passed  on,  and  he  found  it  impossible  to  tear 
himself  away.  He  strove  to  stifle  the  twinges  of 
conscience  by  specious  arguments  ;  but  reflection 
would  not  be  stifled,  do  as  he  would. 

"  Well,  Stanley,  have  my  sisters  introduced  you  to 
all  the  celebrities  of  the  place  ?"  asked  Percival,  one 
warm,  sunny  afternoon,  as  the  whole  party,  after  a 
longer  ramble  than  usual,  strolled  toward  the  house. 

"  No,"  said  Nell ;  "  we  haven't  visited  the  hermit 
yet !" 

"And  why  have  you  not  brought  him  there,  Puss  ?" 
inquired  her  brother. 

"  Because  the  Hermit  was  absent,  off  on  one  of  his 


THE  HERMIT   OF  THE   CUFFBL 


65 


crazy  rambles,"  replied  Nell.  *'  He  only  returned 
this  morning.     Old  Mat,  the  gardener,  told  me." 

"  Then  suppose  we  go  in  a  party,  and  pay  the  old 
man  a  visit  ?"  said  Percival. 

"  Pray,"  inquired  Fred,  "who  is  the  Hermit?" 

"  Oh  !  a  most  singular  and  eccentric  old  man," 
replied  Percival ;  "one  alike  feared  and  shunned  and 
beloved  by  the  villagers.  He  resides  a  few  miles 
from  here,  near  the  seashore,  and  is  a  lunatic,  but 
perfectly  harmless.  There  is  a  range  of  rocks  in  that 
direction,  which  has  been  known  from  time  immem- 
orial by  the  name  of  *  The  Cliffs,'  and  from  his  fond- 
ness for  strolling  about  there,  he  has  received  the 
singular  and  f!on;ewb?.t  romantic  imme  of  the  Hermit 
of  the  Cliffs.  He  first  made  his  appearance  here  a 
few  years  ago,  and  from  his  skill  in  herbs  and  med- 
icine, became  a  favorite.  He  has  built  a  sort  of  cabin 
up  among  the  cliffs,  and  here  he  has  since  resided, 
spending  his  time  in  cultivating  a  little  garden,  or 
wandering  among  the  rocks.  His  name  is  unknown, 
but  he  is,  no  doubt,  some  unfortunate,  whom  the 
cares  of  the  world  have  made  an  idiot." 

"  I  feel  rather  curious  to  see  this  singular  person- 
age," said  Fred.     "  Let  us  visit  him  by  all  means." 

"Is  it  not  too  far,  brother?"  said  Edith,  anxiously. 
"  The  sun  will  have  set  before  we  return." 

"  What  odds  ?"  interrupted  the  impetuous  Nell. 
«  We  can  return  by  moonlight,  which  will  be  twice 
as  pleasant."    And  Nell  hummed  : 

"  Moonlight  hours  were  made  for  Jove.** 


"  Let  us  start,  then,"  said  Gus,  "  if  we  are  to  visit 
the  wizard.    There  is  no  time  to  lose." 
For  awhile  the  party  walked  on  together,  chatting 


THE   HERMIT  OF  THE  CLIFFS. 


I 


Si  ' 


if 


3  ! 


gayly  ;  but  the  usual  phenomenon  took  place  before 
they  had  proceeded  far.  Gus  and  Nell  saw  some- 
thing very  interesting  on  ahead  that  caused  them  to 
quicken  their  steps,  while  Fred  and  Edith  found  it 
quite  convenient  to  walk  slowly.  There  was  a 
scarcely-repressed  smile  hovering  about  young  Per- 
cival's  lips,  as,  under  the  plea  of  acting  as  guide,  he 
walked  on  by  himself  in  advance  of  the  rest. 

Two  hours  slow  walking  brought  them  to  the 
cliffs,  a  high,  steep,  craggy  range  of  rocks.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  each  party  sought  the  cottage  of 
the  hermit  by  a  different  path.  Fred  and  his  fair 
companion,  absorbed  in  conversation,  had  nearly 
forgotten  the  object  of  their  visit,  when,  turning  an 
abrupt  angle  in  the  path,  he  raised  his  head  and 
shook  back  his  dark  locks,  his  eye  fell  on  the  most 
singular-looking  personage  he  had  ever  beheld. 

It  was  an  old  man  of  grave  and  majestic  aspect, 
who  stood  leaning  on  a  staff.  His  long  white  hair 
and  beard  flowed  over  his  robes,  and  gave  to  his 
pale,  but  benign  countenance,  a  venerable  look,  that 
immediately  commanded  respect.  A  small  skull-cap 
of  black  velvet  was  on  his  head,  forming  a  strong 
contrast  to  the  hoary  whiteness  of  his  aged  locks. 
His  dress  was  most  singular,  consisting  of  a  long, 
flowing  robe  of  some  dark  stuff,  that  swept  the 
ground  as  he  walked,  and  was  confined  at  the  waist 
by  a  girdle  of  black  velvet.  Altogether,  his  appear- 
ance was  so  odd,  so  singular,  that  Fred  stood  staring 
at  him,  transfixed  with  astonishment.  The  hermit 
himself  stood  gazing  upon  them  for  a  moment,  then, 
raising  his  cap,  he  said,  in  a  grave,  impressive  voice, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  heart  : 

"  Peace  be  between  us,  my  children." 

**  Amen,  father !"    responded  Edith,  who  was  fa« 


1'^ 


II J  I 


THB  HEBMIT  OF  THI  0LIFF8. 


er 


miliar  with  the  singular  appearance'and  address  of  the 
hermit,  while  Fred  still  stood  lost  in  wonder. 

"Why  hast  thou  visited  me  this  evening,  my 
daughter?"  said  the  old  man,  turning  to  Edith. 

"  My  friend  " — and  she  glanced  toward  Fred— 
"  has  heard  so  much  of  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs,  that 
he  was  anxious  to  visit  you.  Therefore  I  took  the 
liberty  of  bringing  him." 

The  old  man  turned  slowly,  and  fixed  his  mild, 
dark  eye  on  the  face  of  the  young  man. 

"What  is  thy  name,  my  son  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  I  am  called  Frederic  Stanley,  good  father/'  said 
Fred,  raising  his  hat,  and  bowing  with  deep  rever* 
ence. 

The  eyes  of  the  hermit  were  fixed  on  him  long  and 
steadily,  as  if  striving  to  read  his  inmost  thoughts. 
As  if  still  uncertain,  he  approached  ;  and  pushing 
back  the  thick  curls  that  fell  darkly  over  the  young 
man's  brow,  gazed  earnestly  into  the  calm,  dark  eyes 
that  fearlessly  met  his  own.  Edith  looked  up  in 
Fred's  face  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,"  said  the  hermit,  at  last,  speaking  more  to 
himself  than  to  the  listeners,  "  he  has  his  father's 
proud  bearing  and  haughty  eyes.  The  same  impet- 
uous bravery,  but  a  nobler  and  more  generous  heart." 

"  Do  you  know  my  father  ?"  inquired  the  young 
man,  in  surprise. 

•*  Yes  ;  better,  perhaps,  than  he  does  himself.  I 
know  him  for  a  rash,  self-willed,  obstinate,  hard- 
hearted man." 

"  Sir,  he  is  my  father  !"said  Fred,  flushing  angrily. 

The  penetrating  eye  of  the  hermit  was  fixed  stead- 
ily on  his  face. 

"  And  can  you  defend  him,"  he  said,  **  after  part- 
ing from  him  as  you  did  last  ?" 


68 


THE   HERMIT   OF  THE   CLIFFS. 


|i ) 


I  5 


y 


■I     I       r. 


1 


Fred  stood  aghast.  The  meeting  between  the 
father  and  son  had  been  strictly  private  ;  and  yet 
this  mysterious  being  seemed  to  know  all  that  had 
occurred. 

"  How  came  you  to  know  of  our  last  meeting  ?"  he 
demanded  imperiously. 

"  Perhaps  I  know  more  than  you  are  aware  of,  my 
son,"  said  the  hermit,  while  something  like  a  faint 
smile  passed  over  his  face 

"  Pshaw  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  impetuously,  "  you 
have  merely  made  a  clever  guess.  Since  you  know 
we  are  both  fiery  tempered,  it  required  no  great  skill 
to  predict  that  we  might  differ." 

*' Shall  I  convince  you,  most  noble  doubter,  that  I 
know  of  what  I  speak  ?"  said  the  hermit,  quietlj'. 

"  If  you  can,"  replied  Fred,  with  an  incredulous 
smile. 

**  Then  name  the  way/' 

"Tell  me  of  the  past,"  said  Fred,  glancing  mean- 
ingly  at  Edith. 

"  Be  it  so.  We  will  begin  with  your  age.  You  will 
be  twenty-five  years  old  the  third  of  next  November." 

Fred  bowed,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

**  Your  mother  died  alone  and  in  sorrow  ;  the  hands 
of  strangers  placed  her  in  the  grave." 

Fred  grew  deadly  pale,  and  drew  back. 

"  You  have  performed  some  great  service  for  the 
lady  by  your  side,"  continued  the  hermit,  quietly. 
"  And  at  present  linger  with  her  here,  neglecting  the 
duty  for  which  your  father  has  disowned  you." 

"Enough  sir,"  interrupted  Fred,haughtily.  "Be  you 
man  or  demon,  I  will  listen  to  no  imputations  on  my 
conduct.  How  you  have  obtained  this  information 
concerning  me,  I  know  not  ;  neither  do  I  care.  Come, 
Miss  Percival,  let  us  go  ;  the  evening  air  is  too  damp 


THE    HEKMIT   OF   THE   CLIFFS. 


69 


for  you,  and  I  see  our  friends  are  on  their  way  home. 
I  wish  you  good  evening,  Sir  Sage.'*  And  raising 
his  liat,  Fred  turned  coldly  away. 

"  Stay  one  moment,"  said  the  hermit,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  young  man's  arm,  and  speaking  with 
such  deep  solemnity  that  it  awed  him  in  spite  of  him- 
self. "  Stay,  rash  youth,  and  be  warned.  Beware 
of  faLe  friends.  There  is  danger  at  hand  ;  you  will 
soon  meet  one  who  can  work  you  much  evil.  I  am 
your  friend,  though  you  may  not  believe  it.  Go, 
and  be  warned  !  Despise  not  the  words  of  one  to 
whom  age  has  brought  wisdom.  Farewell^  my  chil- 
dren, and  Heaven  bless  you  !" 

He  bowed  and  turning  slowly  round,  disappeared 
among  the  rocks, 

'*  Let  us  go,"  said  Edith,  who  clung,  pale  anc* 
trembling,  to  Fred's  arm  ;  **  his  words  frighten  me." 

*'  Fear  not,  fairest  Edith  ;  those  ominous  words 
were  not  meant  for  you,"  Faid  Fred,  gently,  as  he 
wrapped  her  shawl  close  around  her,  and  hurried 
down  the  rocks. 

**  It  may  be  wrong — it  may  be  superstitious,"  said 
Edith,  '*  but  I  feel  the  strangest  presentiment  ot 
coming  danger  stealing  over  me.  Something  terri- 
ble and  undefined,  from  which  I  shrink  in  fear  and 
horror." 

'*  I  thought  your  nerves  were  too  strong  to  be  thus 
shaken  by  the  idle  raving  of  a  moonstruck  old  man," 
said  Fred,  gravely. 

*'I  am  not  nervous,"  said  Edith,  earnestly.  **Tt  is 
a  feeling  for  which  I  cannot  account.  Strange,  is  it 
not,  that  the  old  man  could  tell  you  of  the  past  so 
truly  ?" 

"  It  is,  indeed  !"  said  Fred,  thoughtfully,  •*  I  can- 
not account  for  it." 


7<> 


THB  RIVALS. 


During  the  remainder  of  the  journey  home,  both 
w€re  silent  and  thoughtful.  It  might  be  fancy,  but 
Fred  thought  there  was  something  more  confiding 
than  usual  in  the  way  Edith  clung  to  his  arm.  The 
moonlight  fell  softly  around,  ere  they  reached  Per- 
cival  Hall,  subduing  with  its  lights  and  shadows  the 
irregular  outline  of  the  building.  As  they  walked 
slowly  up  the  avenue  in  front,  Nell  came  flying  down 
the  steps  all  in  a  flutter  of  surprise. 

"  Edith  !  Edith  !"  she  cried,  as  she  caught  sight  of 
her  sister,  "  guess  who's  come  ?" 

"  Who  ?"  said  Edith. 

"  Why,  nobody  less  than  Ralph  De  Lisle  !'* 

What  meant  Edith's  convulsive  start  ?  She  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  dark,  handsome  face  above  her  and 
Fred  was  struck  by  her  deadly  paleness.  Their  eyes 
met  and  that  one  glance  told  what  their  lips  had 
«4ver  spoken. 


I 


CHAPTER    VHL 


THE    RIVALS. 


11 


•*It  is  a  dreadful  question,  when  we  love. 
To  ask  is  love  returned."— The  Hunchback. 

"Come  along,  Edith,  here  is  a  friend  of  yours," 
called  the  cheerful  voice  of  young  Percival,  as  they 
entered  the  hall. 

Still  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Fred — for  she  trembled 
with  inward  emotion — Edith  entered  the  parlor.  A 
gentleman  arose,  and  advanced  toward  her  with 
extended  hand. 


THE   RIVALS. 


71 


Fred  ran  his  eye  over  his  rival  from  head  to  foot. 
He  was  tall,  considerably  above  middle  height,  ele^ 
gant  in  person,  -^nd  easy  in  address.  His  features, 
taken  separately,  were  decidedly  handsome  ;  but 
there  was  a  sinister  look  in  the  ever-restless  glances 
of  his  keen,  black  eyes.  His  complexion  was  dark — 
almost  swarthy — with  hair,  moustache,  and  whiskers, 
of  shining  jetty  blackness.  There  was  an  expression 
about  the  well-cut  mouth  Fred  could  not  tolerate  ; 
and  the  forehead,  though  high,  was  narrow  and 
retreating.  He  was  d*"essed  in  the  height  of  fashion, 
and  e'^erything  about  him,  even  to  the  carefully-mod- 
ulated tones  of  his  voice,  bespoke  the  perfect  gentle- 
man. 

"Mr.  Stanley — Mr.  De  Lisle,"  said  Edith,  making 
a  faint  attempt  at  an  introduction. 

Fred  bowed  coldly  and  haughtily,  and  his  salute 
was  with  equal  haughtiness  acknowledged.  There 
was  something  so  contemptuous  in  the  supercilious 
air  with  which  De  Lisle  regarded  him,  that  Fred's 
eye  flashed  and  his  cheek  crimsoned  with  anger. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  eh,  Edith  ?"  said 
her  father.  "You  did  not  expect  to  see  your  intended 
so  soon,  did  you  ?" 

Edith  suddenly  discovered  there  was  an  interest- 
ing view  from  the  window,  and  couldn't  possibly 
hear  her  father's  words. 

"I  say,  Ralph,"  said  Nell,  leaning  over  his  chair 
with  a  short  laugh,  "  you  had  better  look  out  for 
Edith  !  Mr.  Stanley's  is  better-looking  than  you  are, 
and—" 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  whisper. 

An  angry  flush  passed  over  De  Lisle's  face,  as  he 
bit  his  lip  till  it  grew  bloodless.  Fred  sat  talking  to 
Mrs.  Percival  with   great  empressement^   though   he 


72 


THE  RIVALS. 


ii 


». 


;?', 


Hi 


;J 


(i 


heard  every  word  of  Nelly's  remark,  and  he  awaited 
the  response  with  deep  interest. 

**  Oh  !  there  is  no  danger !  I  am  not  afraid  c/ 
Aim^"  replied  De  Lisle,  with  a  sneer  of  intense  con- 
tempt. 

"  Don't  be  too  certain,"  said  Nell.  "  Don't  you 
remember  the  proverb  :  Nothing  is  certain  in  this 
uncertain  world.  Well,  it's  as  true  as  preaching  ;  so 
you  had  better  look  out.  If  'Dith  gives  you  the  sack 
some  fine  morning,  don't  say  I  didn't  give  you  fair 
warning." 

"  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  your  sister's  taste,  my 
pretty  black  eyes.  If  I  am  to  be  a  discarded  lover,  I 
trust  it  will  not  be  for  an  unknown  adventurer  and 
rebely*  said  De  Lisle,  in  the  same  sneering  tone. 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  feelings  Fred 
listened  to  this  dialogue.  H<s  fiery  spirit  was  roused 
beyond  endurance  by  the  last  iosult ;  and  forgetting 
his  position  as  guest,  he  was  about  to  make  some 
fierce  retort,  when  Gus  strolled  leisurely  in,  and 
asked  Nell  what  she  was  talking  about. 

**  Repeating  poetry,  ain't  we,  Ralph  ?"  said  Nell, 
with  an  arch  glance. 

"  That's  a  good  child.  Say  some  more,"  said  Gus 
lounging  on  a  couch. 

Nell,  always  prepared  for  any  emergency,  stood 
with  clasped  hands  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
repeated  solemnly  : 


III 


"  My  mother  she  tells  me 

Nature  has  gfiven  thee  lips — 
Lips  to  speak  with,  my  daughter,  my  own  ; 
And  so  thou  must  use  them  for  speaking  alone* 

But  why  are  they  red^  then  ? 
White  lips  would  answer  for  speaking  as  well; 

And  why  has  she  said,  then — 


iltii 


THE  BIVAL8. 


73 


"  Only  for  speaking?     Oh !  who  can  tell 
A  poor  little  innocent  girl  like  me, 
For  what  but  to  speak  with  can  my  mouth  be  ?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?"  said  Gus,  taking  a  step  toward 
her,  but  gliding  through  his  hands  as  if  she  had  been 
a  sunbeam,  she  vanished  through  the  open  doors. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  stroll  i:i  tlie  garden  ?"  said  Per- 
cival,  advancing  toward  him.  "  The  night  is  too 
fine  to  be  spent  within  doors." 

Fred,  glad  to  escape  from  the  stream  of  small-talk 
with  which  Mrs.  Percival  was  overwhelming  him, 
arose,  and  passing  his  arm  through  that  of  his  friend, 
quitted  the  house. 

"  I  heard  the  remarks  of  that  thoughtless  sister  of 
mine,**  remarked  Percival,  in  a  tone  of  slight  embar- 
rassment, **  and  feeling  you  must  be  annoyed,  took 
the  liberty  of  inviting  you  out,  I  trust  you  have  too 
much  good  sense  to  feel  hurt  at  anything  Nell  may 
say  ?" 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  ?"  demanded  Fred, 
almost  fiercely. 

*'  I  did  ;  and  1  felt  as  much  annoyed  by  it  myself 
as  you  could  possibly  be.  It  was  too  bad  of  De  Lisle 
— too  bad,  positively.  But  we  must  make  allowances 
for  these  lovers,  Mr.  Stanley,"  he  said  smiling.  "Jeal- 
ousy will  make  the  best  of  them  slightly  impertinent. 
He  was  vexedwith  Edith,  too.  Her  welcome,  as  you 
doubtless  perceived,  was  a  cold  one." 

"That  he  should  dare  call  me2Si  adventurer  !"  ex- 
claimed Fred,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I,  who  have 
descended  from  one  of  the  proudest  families  in 
England.  And  that  I  should  be  obliged  to  tamely  sit 
down,  and  bear  with  the  insult." 

He  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  hands  with 
suppressed  passion. 


i.'  1 


• 

i 

1 

11   : 

<- 

? 

1   r 

i 

P 

i  ?. 

i    e 

74 


THE   RIVALS. 


"  Oh  !  never  mind,  my  dear  fellow  !'*  said  Percival, 
soothingly.  "  Ralph  is  a  hot-headed  youth  ;  and, 
when  angry,  is  not  very  choice  in  the  words  he  uses. 
I  beg  you'll  think  no  more  about  it.  Nell's  remarks 
were  very  tantalizing  to  a  lover,  you  must  allow,  I 
shall  caution  her  against  speaking  so  again." 

"  I  tell  you,  Percival,"  exclaimed  Fred,  vehemently, 
**  were  he  not  your  father's  guest,  as  I  am,  I  would 
call  him  out  and  make  him  retract  his  words  or  shoot 
him  like  a  dog.  *  Rebel  and  adventurer  !'  "  he  re- 
peated, still  more  fiercely.  "  Is  it  from  a  hound  like 
that  moustached  puppy,  I  must  bear  such  an  insult  ?" 

"  My  dear  Stanley,"  said  Percival,  laying  iiis  hand 
on  the  young  man's  shoulder,  **  I  beg  there  may  be 
no  quarreling  on  this  subject.  Consider  my  sister's 
name  will  be  involved  ;  and  as  you  are  a  man  of 
honor,  you  will  submit  to  this  taunt  rather  than  that 
the  breath  of  slander  sliould  be  affixed  to  her." 

"  For  your  sister's  sake  I  would  do  anything — sub- 
mit to  anytiiing,"  exclaimed  Fred,  impetuously. 
Then,  seeing  the  other's  look  of  surprise,  he  added 
almost  fiercely:  "  Do  you  think  I  am  blind — do  you 
think  I  have  the  heart  of  a  stoic?  Do  you  tliink  it 
possible  I  could  be  continually  in  your  sister's  soci- 
ety, and  not  become  interested  in  her  ?  I  tell  you, 
Nugent  Percival,  I  love  your  sister,  though  she  be 
betrothed  to  the  man  I  hate,  Ralph  De  Lisle." 

There  was  something  appalling  in  tlie  unsubdued 
fierceness  with  wliich  he  spoke.  His  eyes  seemed 
actually  to  emit  flashes  of  fire,  and  his  steps  re- 
sounded, as  he  paced  up  and  down,  as  though  he 
was  siiod  with  iron.  There  was  a  cloud  on  the 
handsome  features  of  Nugent  Percival,  as  he  again 
placed  the  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  earnestly: 

*'  My  dear  Stanley,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  sorry  for 


THE  RIVALS. 


75 


you.  I  never  dreamed  that  this  was  the  case.  I 
would  to  Heaven  Edith's  choice  had  fallen  upon  you 
first,  instead  of  De  Lisle.  But  it  is  too  late  now. 
And  for  the  sake  of  peace — for  the  happiness  of  all 
— I  beg  you  will  endeavor  to  avoid  a  quarrel  with 
him  while  he  remains  here.  He  is  a  perfect  fiend 
when  roused,  and  I  greatly  fear  the  happiness  of  our 
whole  household  will  be  destroyed,  should  anything 
occur." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear  Percival  ;  I  have  been  mad. 
To-morrow  I  will  depart.  I  have  loitered  here  too 
long,  neglecting  the  duty  which  calls  me  away.  De 
Lisle's  taunt  shall  be  borne  this  time,  but  should  we 
meet  again — "  He  paused,  but  his  eyes  finished  the 
sentence. 

"  Oh  !  come,  Stanley,  you  mustn't  think  of  going 
to-morrow,"  interposed  Percival.  "Do  you  not 
know  to-morrow  is  Nellie's  seventeenth  birthday, 
and  she  is  to  celebrate  it  by  a  party  in  the  evening. 
Come,  my  good  friend,  be  reasonable  !  You  cannot 
depart  to-morrow.     The  thing  is  impossible  !" 

Fred  knit  his  brow,  and  paced  moodily  up  and 
down. 

"  Besides,  if  you  leave  us  so  suddenly,"  continued 
Percival,  in  his  frank,  cheerful  way,  "  I  will  think 
that  my  words  have  driven  you  off.  That  would  be 
a  poor  requital  for  saving  my  sister's  life." 

*' For  ///a/  I  need  no  thanks,"  said  Fred,  huskily. 
Then  seeing  the  anxious  expression  on  Percival's 
face,  he  said,  more  composedly  :  "  My  dear  friend, 
I  will  remain,  as  you  request,  but  I  certainly  must 
depart  on  the  day  following.  Duty  to  my  country 
imperatively  calls  me  away." 

"  Ah  !  Edith  told  me  something  of  this  !"  said  Per- 


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■    ;           It 

76 


THE   RIVALS. 


cival,  while  a  flush  tinged  his  cheek.  *  Stanley,  I 
envy  you." 

*'  E'vy  irt  ^  •  *     JJr.  ed  Fred,  bitterly. 

"Yes,  for  i  hav<^  no  doubt  a  brilliant  career  is  in 
store  for  you.     I' or  n''    it  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  And  why,  may  I  ask  ?" 

•*  Oh  !  the  reason  is  simple  enough.  I  will  not 
accept  a  commission  in  the  English  army,  and  there 
would  be  the  deuce  to  pay  did  I  enlist  in  any  other. 
I  have  not  courage  to  face  my  father's  anger,  so  I 
choose  to  remain  neutral.  Rather  cowardly,  is  it 
not  ?" 

He  laughed  carelessly  as  he  spoke,  but  there  was  a 
bitterness  in  his  tone  tha'  did  not  escape  Fred. 

"  There's  De  Lisle,  now,  he  continued,  *'  lie's  a  red- 
hot  tory,  and  is  considered  both  by  my  father  and 
yours  as  the  deau  ideal  of  what  a  young  man  in  these 
times  should  be.  There's  something  almost  fiendish 
in  the  hate  with  which  he  pursues  the  *  rebel  Yan- 
kees.' I  always  considered  mercy  a  necessary  virtue 
in  a  soldier,  but  he  looks  upon  it  as  quite  superfluous, 
not  to  say  childish.  He  is  the  leader  of  a  gang  of 
savage-looking  cut-throats,  more  like  Spanish  ban- 
dits, to  my  mind,  than  Christian  soldiers.  With 
these  he  goes  hovering  about,  never  bringing  about 
any  particular  result,  but  harassing  the  enemy,  and 
cutting  off  straggling  parties.  Heigho  !"  he  added, 
suddenly  changing  his  tone,  '*  he  does  something 
after  all,  and  that  is  more  than  I  can  say." 

"  But  why,"  demanded  Fred,  "  do  you  not  declare 
your  real  sentiments  to  your  father,  and  follow  the 
dictates  of  your  own  conscience  ?  If  seems  to  me 
(pardon  my  plain  speaking)  t'.iat  there  is  something 
unmanly  in  acting  this  way." 

Percival  turned  away  his  head   for  a  moment,  and 


£IE    RIVAL8. 


77 


when  he  £gain  spoke,  his  voice  was  low  and 
husky. 

"  I  would  do  so,  Stanley.  Heaven  knows  it  is  from 
no  unworthy  motive  that  I  shrink  from  it,  but  my 
mother,  it  would  kill  her." 

"My  dear  Percival,"  said  Fred,  graspin  ''is  hand, 
«*  say  no  more,  I  honor  you  for  your  jin  M.nents. 
You  will  pardon  my  words,  I  feel  assur  .-c.  " 

"  That  is  already  done,"  replied  Pe.^•l''^i,  smiling, 
"and  now,  since  we  have  both  talked  oui selves  into 
a  proper  degree  of  coolness,  suppose  vre  return  to 
the  house." 

Edith  was  seated  at  the  piano  singing  when  they 
entered,  with  De  Lisle  standing  by  her  side  to  turn 
over  the  leaves.  As  may  be  supposed,  this  sight 
did  not  tend  to  add  to  Fred's  composure  ;  but  with 
the  determination  of  avoiding  all  outward  sign  of 
annoyance,  he  seated  himself  by  the  window,  and 
listened  quietly  to  the  sweet  voice  of  the  singer,  as 
she  warbled  the  words  of  an  old  Scotch  ballad. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Edith  bowed  her  good- 
night to  him,  he  encountered  the  eyes  of  De  Lisle 
fixed  upon  him  with  a  look  of  such  undying  bate 
that  he  absolutely  started.  The  next  moment  he 
recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  and  regarding  him 
for  a  moment  with  a  contemptuous  smile,  far  more 
stinging  than  any  words,  he  passed  from  the  room. 

Alone  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  chamber,  he  strove 
to  think  calmly  over  the  events  of  the  day.  Calmly  ! 
It  was  hard  indeed  to  do  so  with  such  a  fire  burning 
in  his  heart  and  brain.  The  memory  of  the  hermit's 
strange  prediction  kept  constantly  recurring  to  his 
mind,  but  though  he  thought  until  his  head  grew 
giddy,  he  could  not  imagine  who  that  strange  being 
was.    Then,  as  the  other  events  of  the  evening  passed 


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78 


THE    RIVALS. 


one  by  one  before  him,  he  came  in  due  course 
of  time  to  tlie  insulting  words  of  De  Lisle,  and  once 
again  his  eye  flasiied,  and  his  clieek  burned,  as  he 
trod  fiercely  up  and  down  the  room. 

And  Edith  !  Did  she  love  him  ?  That  expressive 
glance,  as  they  entered  the  house,  had  seemed  to  say 
so  !  If  so,  would  she  still  fulfill  her  engagement  with 
De  Lisle  ?  He  dwelt  upon  this  problem  until  his 
brain  was  in  a  whirl,  and  when  he  at  last  threw  him- 
self on  the  bed,  it  was  with  the  intention  of  seeking 
a  solution  from  herself  the  following  day. 

As  every  member  of  the  family,  however,  was  busy 
all  day  in  preparing  for  the  festivities  of  the  evening, 
no  opportunities  occurred  for  him  to  see  Edith  alone. 
Accordingly,  accepting  Percival's  invitation,  he  went 
out  with  him  to  take  a  stroll,  only  returning  in  time 
to  dress  for  the  evening. 

When  Fred  entered  the  drawing-room,  he  found  it 
crowded  to  excess.  Owing  to  the  warmth  of  the 
weather,  the  doors  and  windows  were  all  left  open, 
and  the  cool  nigiit-breeze  came  drifting  in,  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  tlowers,  the  glare  of  the  lighted 
rooms  contrasting  pleasantly  with  the  calm,  full 
moonlight.  Edith,  robed  in  snowy  white,  was  there, 
looking  lovelier  than  ever.  She  stood  by  the  open 
window,  partly  in  the  shadow,  her  head  leaning  on 
her  hand,  a  sad,  dreamy  look  on  her  fair  face.  As 
Fred  approached,  she  raised  her  cloudless  blue  eyes 
to  his  face,  and  he  started  to  see  her  look  exactly  as 
she  did  the  day  he  rescued  her  from  the  burning 
ship.  The  rose  tint  on  her  cheek  deepened  to  crim- 
son beneath  his  gaze,  and  with  an  inclination  of  her 
head,  she  glided  away,  and  disappeared  among  the 
crowd. 

While  he  stood  looking  after  her,  Nell  approached, 


THE   RIVALS. 


79 


leaning  on  the  arm  of  De  Lisle.  Nell  looked  abso- 
lutely beautiful,  there  was  such  a  deep,  living  glow 
on  her  cheeks,  and  such  a  bright,  streaming  light  in 
her  eyes.  De  Lisle,  most  elegantly  dressed,  was  also 
looking  handsome,  and  had  evidently  prepared  him- 
self to  make  a  deeper  impression  than  ever  upon 
Edith. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Stanley  !"  exclaimed  Nell,  "wha^  have 
you  done  with  Edith  ?  She  was  here  a  moment  ago, 
with  you*' — There  was  a  wicked  emphasis  on  the 
pronoun.  "  Where  is  she  now  ?  I  want  her  dread- 
fully." 

At  sight  of  De  Lisle,  Fred's  face  grew  cold,  almost 
haughty. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  inform  you,"  he  answered 
stiffly,  "  Miss  Percival  did  not  remain  here  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Dear  me  !  I  hope  she  did  not  leave  you  on  our 
account,"  said  the  wicked  Nell,  noticing  with  delight 
that  De  Lisle  was  pale  with  anger  and  jealousy. 
*'  Come,  Ralph,  we  must  look  for  her.  Perhaps 
you'll  join  us,  Mr.  Stanley." 

•*  Excuse  me  !"  said  Fred,  bowing  coldly,  as  he 
turned  on  his  heel  and  left  them. 

Nell  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"  What  a  creature  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  as  stiff  and 
haughty  as  papa  himself.  Did  you  ever  see  such  an 
iron  face  as  he  puts  on  when  angry,  and  iht  freezing 
tone  in  which  that  *  excuse  me  *  was  said." 

And  Nell  imitated  his  tone  so  exactly,  that  any- 
body but  De  Lisle  would  have  laughed. 

"  Conceited,  insufferable  puppy  !"  muttered  the 
young  man  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

As  Fred  strolled  into  the  dancing-room,  he  saw 
Edith  and   Gus  standing  at  the  head  of  one  of  the 


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80 


THE  RIVALS. 


quadrilles,  and  laughing  and  chatting  gayly  during 
the  rests.  Feeling  in  no  humor  for  dancing  himself, 
he  wandered  into  the  music-room,  where  he  could 
catch  glimpses  of  the  gay  dancers,  and  listen  to  the 
merry  strains  of  the  music. 

There  was  a  deep  bay-window  in  the  music-room, 
screened  by  heavy  curtains.  In  this  recess  there  was 
a  lounge.  Fred  threw  himself  on  it,  and  drew  the 
curtains  to  screen  himself  from  the  observation  of 
any  stragglers  who  might  enter. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice  met  his  ear. 
Raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  he  glanced  from  his 
hiding-place  and  beheld  the  well  known  features  of 
De  Lisle  apparently  absorbed  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion with  another  man. 

His  companion,  from  some  strange  unaccountable 
cause  immediately  riveted  the  attention  of  Fred,  as 
no  other  stranger  had  ever  done  before.  Not  that 
there  was  anything  remarkable  about  him.  He  was 
a  man  of  middle  age,  robust  and  sine^vy,  but  not 
stout,  and  dressed  in  the  plain  garb  of  a  civilian  of 
the  day.  His  features  were  bronzed  by  the  sun,  and 
seamed  with  more  wrinkles  than  his  age  might  seem 
to  warrant.  His  hair  was  grizzled,  and  streaked 
alternately  with  black  and  gray.  His  eyes,  small, 
sharp,  bright  and  piercing,  were  set  in  two  deep 
caverns,  overhung  by  thick,  bushy  eyebrows,  and 
were  ever  wandering  around,  with  a  quick,  restless 
look  that  seemed  to  take  everything  in  at  once. 

It  was  impossible  for  Fred  to  leave  the  room  with- 
out being  observed,  consequently,  he  was  forced  ta 
remain. 

"I  tell  you,"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  "he  has  sup- 
planted me,  any  fool  can  see  that  the  girl  is  in  love 
with  him.     Even   that  confounded  little  Will-o'-the 


THB   BIYALB. 


81 


wisp,  her  sister,  can  jibe  and  mock  me  about  it.  I 
tell  you,  Paul,  the  infernal  upstart  shall  repent  it  in 
dust  and  ashes.  No  man  can  cross  my  path  and 
live." 

"  Why  do  you  not  tell  Major  Percival  he  is  a 
rebel  ?"  said  his  companion,  "  such  a  staunch  royal- 
ist would  not  harbor  rebels,  surely." 

"Yes,  he  would,"  said  De  Lisle,  vehemently,  "  the 
very  demons  themselves  seem  to  conspire  against 
me." 

"  Oh  !  well  you  cannot  always  expect  them  to  stand 
your  friends,"  said  the  man  Paul,  with  something 
like  a  sneer,  "  tlie;y  have  been  true  to  you  a  good 
long  while.  But  were  I  you,  I  would  tell  the  major, 
anyway." 

"Tell  the  major  !  have  I  not  done  so,  and  what  was 
his  answer  ?  *  Mr.  Stanley  has  saved  my  daughter's 
life,  and  is  now  my  guest,  and,  therefore,  no  one 
shall  presume  to  insult  him  while  he  is  in  this  house.* 
I  mentioned  his  growing  intimacy  with  Edith,  and 
giving  me  one  of  his  stern  looks,  he  replied,  *  Mr. 
Stanley  is  a  gentleman,  and  as  such,  it  will  be  enough 
for  1  im  to  know  her  hand  is  already  engaged.'  So 
that  was  all  the  satisfaction  I  got  from  him.  Perdition 
seize  them  all  I"  And  he  gnashed  his  teeth  with  im- 
potent rage. 

*'  Take  it  coolly,  my  dear  captain,"  said  his  com- 
panion, quietly,  "  no  one  ever  does  business  by  get- 
ting into  a  passion.  You  hate  this  fellow,  that's  plain 
enough,  and  now,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"  Listen  !"  said  De  Lisle,  in  a  tone  of  concentrated 
hatred,  "and  tell  me  if  it  is  not  a  glorious  plan.  Ha  ! 
here  comes  a  crowd  of  fools  from  the  drawing-room. 
Come  elsewhere  and  I  will  tell  you.*'    And  passing 


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88 


THE   BIVALS. 


hfs  arm  through  that    of  his  companion,  the  twain 
quitted  the  music-room. 

When  they  were  gone,  Fred  arose  to  his  feet. 
What  his  feelings  were  whilst  listening  to  the  above 
dialogue  may  be  imagined.  A  profound  contempt 
for  De  Lisle  mi»stered  every  other  feeling.  He  saw 
intuitively  from  the  first  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
tru5C(fd,  but  he  had  never  believed  him  capable  of 
such  villainy.  And  this  was  the  man  Edith  Percival 
was  to  marry.  The  thought  was  maddening  I  Fred 
trod  up  and  down  like  a  caged  tiger,  unconscious  that 
the  eyes  of  many  were  regarding  him  with  wonder. 
Becoming  aware  at  last  of  this,  he  seized  his  hat,  and 
wandered  out  to  the  garden.  The  calm,  holy  still- 
ness of  the  niglit  soothed  his  excited  feelings.  The 
cool,  pitying  breeze  fanned  his  feverish  brow,  as  he 
shook  back  the  dark  locks  that  fell  heavily  over  his 
temples.  The  moonlight  iay  sleeping  on  the  earth, 
the  trees  waved  and  mourned  softly  together  ;  and, 
at  times,  the  shrill  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will  and  katy- 
did, would  come  floating  to  his  ear,  mingling  with 
the  strains  of  music  that  reached  him,  softened  and 
subdued  by  the  distance.  All  breathed  of  peace  and 
repose,  and  unconsciously  the  calm  of  the  scene  stole 
into  his  heart,  subduing  its   tumultuous  throbbings. 

Scarcely  knowing  whither  he  went,  he  strolled 
toward  a  little  arbor  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  a 
favorite  retr<;at  of  Edith.  He  expected  to  find  it 
I  ntenanted,  but  to  his  surprise  he  beheld  the  slight 
figure  of  a  young  girl,  robed  in  white,  kneeling  on  the 
grouiid,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  her  long 
golden  hair  falling  in  a  bright  shower  over  her 
shoulders.  One  might  almost  fancy  her  some  pity- 
ing angel  weeping  over  a  fallen  sou!,  as  she  knelt 


THE   RIVALS. 


88 


there  in  the  clear  moonlight,  in  her  snowy  dress,  as 
still  and  motionless  as  though  turned  to  marble. 

'•  Edith  I"  said  the  voice  of  him  she  was  then  think- 
ing of,  whose  every  tone  could  have  recalled  her  from 
death  to  life. 

With  a  suppressed  cry  she  started  to  her  feet,  and 
seemed,  for  a  moment,  about  to  fly,  but  something 
in  the  eye  of  Fred  restrained  her,  and  she  stood 
silent,  her  bosom  rising  and  falling  with  powerful 
emotion. 

"  Edith,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  which  she  did 
not  attempt  to  withdraw,  "why  are  you  here  alone, 
exposed  to  the  damp  night  air  ?" 

"  Because  I  would  be  alone  ;  because  I  am  weary 
of  all  this  empty  gayety  ;  because  I  am  wretched. 
That  is,"  she  added,  coloring  painfully,  and  checking 
herself,  "  I — I  am — "     She  paused  abruptly. 

"  Edith,"  he  began,  hurriedly.  *'  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you — something  you  must  hear." 

The  words  were  intended  to  be  spoken  in  a  tone  of 
entreaty,  but  it  partook  largely  of  command. 

"Oh  !  let  me  return,  Mr.  Stcnley,"  said  Edith,  evi- 
dently much  agitated  ;  "  we  will  be  missed." 

"  Edith,  you  must  hear  me  now  !"  he  exclaimed, 
vehemently,  as  she  attempted  to  withdraw  her  hand. 
"  I  cannot  suffer  this  opportunity  to  pass  unimproved, 
and  you  must  listen  to  me.  Edith,  I  love  you — since 
the  first  moment  I  saw  you  I  have  loved  you,  and 
even  though  you  be  the  betrothed  of  another,  I  can- 
not but  love  you  still.  You  are  the  first  to  whom 
these  lips  ever  made  such  an  avowal,  and  though 
you  may  think  me  bold  and  presumptuous,  I  can  no 
longer  remain  silent.  Tell  me,  dearest,  have  I  loved 
in  vain  }  If  so,  we  will  nevei  meet  more.  Edith ! 
Edith  I  dearer  than  life,  answer  me  !" 


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84 


THE   RIVALS. 


There  was  no  rep'y.  Witli  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands,  she  was  sobbing"  convulsively. 

*•  I  am  answered,"  said  Fred,  huskily.  "Edith,  fare- 
well !  May  you  be  as  happy  with  the  husband  of  your 
choice  as  I  would  have  striven  to  render  you." 

He  turned  to  go.  Edith  raised  her  head,  and  saw 
in  the  wan  moonliglu  the  deadly  paleness  of  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Stanley — Frederic  !"  she  said,  faintly. 

In  a  moment,  he  was  again  by  her  side,  looking 
down  into  the  fair  face  veiled  by  the  long,  golden 
hair. 

"  Dearest  Edith,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  may  I  hope — " 

"  No  !  no  I  hope  for  nothing  !"  she  interrupted, 
"  but  I  feared  you  were  offended.  Oli,  Mr.  Stanley, 
you  do  not  know  how  utterly  miserable  I  am  !" 

"  And  why,  fairest  lady  .?"  he  said,  almost  coldly, 
"since  you  love  Mr.  De  Lisle,  methinks  you  should 
be  happy." 

"  I  do  not  love  him — I  do  not  care  for  him  1"  she 
said,  earnestly  ;  "  it  is  not  that." 

"  And  what,  then,  is  it?  Confide  in  me,  dearest. 
Is  it  even  as  I  have  been  rash  enough  to  hope  ? 
Dearest  Edith,  do  you  indeed  love  me  }" 

"  I  do  \"  she  said,  faintly,  as  her  head  dropped 
on  his  sjjoulder.  "But  why  do  I  say  so.?"  she 
exclaimed,  starting  up — "  I,  who  am  to  be  the  wife 
of  another  ?" 

*'  Editii  !  Edith  !  will  you  marry  a  man  you  do  not 
love  ?" 

"  I  must  !"  she  replied,  dejectedly.  "  I  dare  not 
refuse — my  father  has  set  his  heart  on  this  union. 
Oh,  Frederic  !  would  we  had  never  met  !" 

"  It  would,  indeed,  nave  been  better,  Edith.  But 
would  it  not  be  wiser  to  brave  the  anger  of  a  parent 


li  't 


THE   RIVALS. 


85 


than  to  be  made  miserable  for  life  by  marrying  one 
you  dislike  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  know  not  what  to  do  !"  said  Edith,  wring- 
ing her  hands. 

•'Let  me  advise  you,  dearest  Edith,"  said  Fred, 
earnestly.  "  Refuse,  firmly,  to  marry  De  Lisle,  your 
father  will  not  compel  you  to  do  so.  Believe  me,  it 
is  from  no  selfish  motive  I  urge  you  to  do  this.  You 
and  I,  dear  Edith,  are  doomed  to  part.  But  it  would 
be  a  crime — a  perjury,  to  go  before  God's  holy  altar, 
and  vow  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  a  man  you  detest." 

"  But  my  father  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Stanley  you  do  not  know 
how  terrible  his  wrath  is  !"  said  Edith,  wildly. 

"  Better  to  brave  his  wrath,  Edith,  than  render 
yourself  forever  wretched.  De  Lisle  is  not  worthy 
of  you ;  let  me  advise  you  as  a  brother,  to  reject 
him!" 

Edith  dropped  her  head,  and  for  a  moment  seemed 
lost  in  thought.    Then  raising  it,  she  said,  firmly  : 

"  With  Heaven's  blessing,  Frederic,  I  will  do  so. 
I  feel  it  would  be  wrong  to  marry  him,  but  his  anger 
and  my  father's  will  be  fearful,  a.nd  you — "  she  added, 
looking  anxiously  up  in  the  face  bending  over  her. 

"  I  shall  leave  to-morrow,"  he  replied,  speaking 
calmly,  by  an  effort,  "  happy  in  knowing  I  ara 
beloved,  though  we  may  never  meet  again." 

She  looked  down  with  a  shudder. 

"  It  is  so  cold  !"  she  said,  absently  ;  "  let  us  re- 
turn." 

He  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  turned  slowly 
toward  the  house.  When  they  disappeared,  the 
figure  of  a  man  arose  from  where  it  had  been  crouch- 
ing behind  some  low  bushes,  hearing  every  word. 

It  wj»s  De  Lisle  !  and  as  the  moonlight  fell  upon 
it,  his  face  wore  the  look  of  a  demon. 


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DOOMB*. 


CHAPTER  IX 


DOOMED. 


"  Go  some  of  you,  cry  a  repiieve." — Beggar's  Opera. 

Night  had  settled  over  the  earth,  dark,  chilly,  and 
starless.  A  thick  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  while 
the  storm-clouds  chased  one  another  over  the  sky. 

In  a  narrow,  gloomy  cell,  cold  and  fireless,  sat  Fred 
Stanley.  It  was  a  poor  place  for  such  an  occupant 
— unfurnished  save  by  a  wooden  bench  and  a  rude 
cot  on  which  lay  a  mattress,  covered  by  a  coarse 
blanket,  so  filthy  that  he  shrank  from  it  in  disgust. 

When  Fred  quitted  the  residence  of  Major  Perci- 
val,  he  joined  the  American  army,  where  his  bravery 
soon  won  for  him  promotion. 

Being  caught  hovering  around  the  English  out- 
posts with  a  number  of  his  men,  he  was  imprisoned, 
tried  by  court-martial,  and  condemned  to  be  shot  as 
a  traitor  and  a  spy.  It  was  not  death  that  could 
subdue  the  proud  spirit  of  Fred  Stanley,  but  oh  ! 
fearful  to  think  of — his  father  had  been  his  judge,  it 
was  his  lips  that  had  pronounced  his  death-warrant. 

Hs  sat  on  the  rude  bench,  his  arms  folded  across 
his  breast,  his  lips  compressed,  his  neglected  locks 
TaHtrn  darkly  over  his  face.  It  was  his  last  night  on 
ca.tli.  Lre  tkt  sun  rose  again,  he  would  be  in 
clernity. 

^;lf»  ihc  jgjhtof  Edith,  and  wondered  vaguely  if  she 
."vouid  grieve  to  learn  his  fate  ;  then  of  her  stern 
fatiier,  compelling  her  to  be  the  wife  of  De  Lisle — 
until  almost  maddened,  he   sprang  to  his  feet  and 


DOOMED. 


87 


paced  up  and  down,  with  clenched  hands  and  flash- 
ing eyes. 

It  was  hard  to  die,  too,  so  young,  with  such  a 
glorious  career  opening  before  him.  To  leave  the 
beautiful  world  that  had  never  seemed  half  so  fair 
to  him  before.  He  thought  of  his  father's  bitter 
words  at  their  stormy  interview,  with  a  vague  feeling 
of  wonder  that  they  had  come  true  so  soon.  And 
then  followed  a  feeling  of  utter  desolation — he  was 
deserted  by  all,  without  a  friend  on  earth,  doomed 
to  die  an  ignominious  death  in  the  fiower  of  his 
youth.  He  slrove  to  pray,  but  his  brain  was  like 
a  seething  cauldron,  through  which  maddening 
thoughts  leaped  in  wild  chaos.  Even  "  God  have 
mercy  "  seemed  glued  to  his  lips. 

Suddenly  the  grating  noise  of  the  key  turning  in 
the  rusty  lock  arrested  his  attention.  The  jailor 
entered,  bearing  a  lantern,  followed  by  a  tall  figure 
wrapped  in  a  cloak.  Setting  down  the  light,  the 
man  departed,  and  Fred  was  alone  with      e  stranger. 

"  Stanley,  my  dear  fellow  !"    he   ex 
choking  voice,  as  the  cloak  fall    off, 
pale  features  of  Nugent  Percival. 

"  Percival,  is  it  you  ?  this  is  inde 
Fred,  grasping  his  hand. 

"  I  only  learned  about  an  hour  ago  of  this,*'  said 
Percival,  "  and  came  here  immediately.  I  had  con- 
siderable difficulty  in  persuading  them  to  allow  me 
to  see  you.  They  seem  particularly  afraid  lest  you 
should  escape." 

'*  Escape  I"  repeated  Fred,  bitterly,  "  they  need  not 
alarm  themselves.  There  is  nothing  further  from 
my  thoughts  at  present." 

"Would  to  Heaven,  my  dear  friend,  I  could  aid 
you  I"  exclaimed   Percival,  in   a    voice    husky  from 


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.losing  the 


kind  !"   said 


68 


DOOMED. 


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deep  emotion.  "  This  affair  is  terrible,  monstrous, 
unnatural.     They  tell  me  Sir  William  sat  as  judge?" 

"  He  did,"  replied  Fred,  with  stern  fierceness, 
"and  most  coolly  and  deliberately  condemned  me  to 
death.  He  told  me  before  he  would  do  so,  but  I 
little  dreamed  how  soon  his  words  were  to  come  true. 
The  only  thing  he  seemed  to  hesitate  in  was,  whether 
his  rebel  son  should  die  by  the  rope  or  the  musket. 
Some  of  my  former  friends  (the  words  were  pro- 
nounced with  a  withering  sneer)  persuaded  him  to  let 
me  su<^er  by  the  latter,  as  the  most  honorable.  Have 
I  not  reason  to  be  grateful  for  such  condescension  ?" 

He  laughed  mockingly.  It  sounded  so  wild,  so 
strange,  s».>  unnatural,  that  Percival  shuddered. 

*'  It  is  terrible  !"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Has  he 
the  heart  of  a  man  to  condemn  his  own  son  to  death  ? 
It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be.  Fred,  he  will  relent — 
you  will  be  pardoned  ;  you  need  not  fear  death." 

Fred  started,  raised  liis  head,  and  flinging  back  his 
dark  hair,  exclaimed  fiercely  : 

"  Fear,  did  you  say  ?  I  do  not  fear  death  !  I  can 
walk  to  the  muzzle  of  their  muskets  without  my 
heart  beating  one  throb  faster.  Fear  !"  His  lip 
curled  scornfully. 

"But  you  do  not  wish  to  die  such  a  disgraceful 
death.  It  would  be  an  honor  to  fall  fighting  for 
one's  country  ;  but  this,  the  doom  of  a  traitor  !  Who 
could  think  of  such  a  fate  calmly  ?  It  might  well 
make  the  bravest  heart  quail." 

"  Poor  comfort,  my  dear  Percival  I"  said  Fred,  one 
of  those  rare  smiles  that  his  face  seldom  wore  of 
late,  lighting  up  his  handsome  countenance.  "  Sur- 
prising as  it  may  seem,  your  words  do  not  tend  to 
cheer  me  in  the  least." 

*•  Fred,  yon  shall  not  perish  if  I  have  to  intercede  for 


DOOUSD. 


19 


your  pardon  on  my  knees !"  exclaimed  Percival, 
hurried  away  by  his  impetuous  feelings.  "  I  will  go 
to  Sir  William,  and  plead  for  your  life." 

"  Percival,  if  you  wish  me  to  regard  you  as  my 
friend,  never  utter  such  words  again  !"  said  Fred, 
sternly.  "  Do  you  think  that  I  would  accept  the 
poor  boon  of  life  on  such  degrading  terms?  No, 
my  dear  friend.  I  thank  you  for  your  zeal  in  my 
behalf,  but  think  no  more  of  pardon  for  me.  My 
hours  are  numbered.  I  will  never  live  to  see  the  sun 
rise  again," 

Percival  strove  to  speak,  but  r  '  boking  sensation 
rose  in  his  throat,  and  kept  him  siient.  Fred  paced 
up  and  down,  after  his  custom  when  excited.  At 
last,  stopping  suddenly  before  Percival,  who  sat  with 
his  face  shaded  by  his  hand,  he  dashed  his  heavy 
locks  back  from  his  temples,  and  said,  in  a  voice 
quick  and  excited: 

"There  is  one  thing  you  can  do  for  me — it  is  the 
last  favor  I  will  ask  on  earth  from  any  one.  Tell 
your  sister — tell  Edith,  I  loved  her  to  the  last,  and 
ask  her  to  think  of  me  sometimes  when  I  am  dead. 
Tell  her  to  think  of  what  we  spoke  of  last.  She  will 
understand  what  I  mean,  and  will  then  believe  no 
selfish  motive  prompted  me  ;  for  by  that  time  I  will 
be  beyond  feeling  any  earthly  pain." 

"  Time's  up,  sir  !"  said  the  jailer,  sharply,  shoving 
his  head  through  the  half-opened  door. 

**Good-by,  then,  my  dear  Percival,"  said  Fred, 
grasping  his  hand — **  we  part  for  the  last  time  !  God 
bless  you  !" 

A  convulsive  pressure  of  his  hand  was  the  only 
reply,  as  Percival  turned  aside  his  head  to  hide  the 
emotion  he  could  not  repress.     Not  trusting  his  voic; 


90 


DOOMED. 


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to  speak,  he  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and 
quitted  tlie  cell,  followed  by  the  turnkey. 

Striding  through  the  streets  as  though  shod  with 
the  famous  seven-league  boots,  Nugent  Percival 
stopped  not  until  he  reached  the  hotel  where  he  and 
his  father  resided  during  their  temporary  stay  from 
home. 

Major  Percival  was  seated  in  stately  dignity,  look- 
ing over  a  formidable  pile  of  letters  and  accounts. 
He  started  back  in  surprise  and  consternation  as  his 
son,  pale,  wild,  and  excited,  burst  into  the  room  and 
stood  before  him. 

"  Father  I"  he  exclaimed,  impetuously — "  Fred 
Stanley  saved  your  daughter's  life.  It  is  now  in  your 
power  to  return  the  obligation  by  saving  his  !" 

"  Save  his  life  !  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  demand- 
ed his  father,  amazed  and  angry  at  this  abrupt 
address. 

"  I  mean  that  Fred  Stanley  is  in  prison,  con- 
demned to  be  shot  to-morrow  ;  and  it  is  in  your 
power  to  save  him  !"  exclaimed  his  son,  with  still 
increasing  excitement. 

"  Shot  to-morrow !"  exclaimed  Major  Percival. 
"  Good  Heavens  !  what  has  he  done  ?" 

"  He  joined  the  American  cause,  as  you  know,  and 
has  been  arrested  and  condemned  as  a  spy,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it — sorry  to  hear  it  !"  said  the 
major,  shaking  his  head.  "  Stanley  was  a  fine  fellow, 
but  I  can  do  nothing  for  him.     He  deserves  iiis  fate  !'* 

"  And  is  this  y  >ur  gratitude  to  him  for  saving 
Edith's  life  ?"  sai<      'ercival,  with  flashing  eyes. 

**  But  what  car  o,  sir  ?  I  told  you  it  is  not  in 
my  pow  .o  hel^  xnn  !"  replied  his  father,  in  rising 
anger. 


DOOMED. 


91 


**  You  can  help  him,  sir.  Are  you  not  the  intimate 
friend  of  his  father  ?" 

"  Well,  and  if  I  am  ?" 

"  Then  go  to  him  and  plead  for  'lis  son's  life  !** 

"  Plead  for  his  son's  life  !  Are  }  on  crazy,  Nugent  ? 
Doubtless  all  the  influence  Sir  William  possessed  has 
been  tried  for  his  pardon  before  this." 

"I  tell  you,  father,  it  is  Sir  William  himself  who 
has  condemned  Fred  to  death  !"  exclaimed  Percival, 
vehemently. 

*'  IVAaf  /"  gasped  Major  Percival,  starting  back  in 
horror — "  condemn  his  own  son  ?     Impossible  !" 

"  He  has  done  so,  horrible  as  it  seems.  Father, 
you  wt7/  go  to  him  and  plead  for  a  reprieve  ?" 

"  In  such  a  case  I  certainly  will  !  I'll  go  instantly  ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  >i  thing  ?  It  absolutely 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold,  i     He  mustpardon  him  !" 


Sir  William  Stanley  sat  by  the  open  window  of  his 
room,  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  his  brows  knit 
as  though  in  pain.  The  raw  wind  and  chill  rain  beat 
unheeded  on  his  bare  head — a  few  hours  seemed  to 
have  turned  him  into  an  old  man. 

He  was  thinking  of  his  son,  alone  in  his  cold, 
gloomy  cell — the  last  heir  of  his  proud  house  con- 
demned to  die  a  traitor's  ignominious  death  on  the 
morrow  !  It  was  his  own  lips  that  had  pronounced 
his  doom,  and  though  his  sorrow  and  anguish  were 
intense,  those  words  should  never  be  recalled. 

Sir  William  was  neither  hard-hearted  "nor  unnatural. 
That  his  son  was  a  spy,  and  as  such,  deserved  death 
— was  his  conviction.  He  would  not  have  condemned 
him  unjustly  ;  but  having  once  found  h.im  g«jilty, 
nothing  could  save  him.  Duty  was  the  ruling  prin- 
ciple  of   Sir  William   Stanley's   life.     It   amounted 


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DOOMED. 


almost  to  a  monomania  with  him.  Once  convinced 
of  what  he  considered  his  duty,  no  liuman  consider- 
ation could  induce  him  *o  swerve  from  it. 

Therefore,  he  sat  by  the  window  a  bereaved,  broken- 
hearted old  man,  bereaved  by  his  own  act.  His 
affection  for  Frederic  had  never  been  very  strong, 
but  he  was  his  son  after  all ;  and  now  that  he  was 
about  to  lose  him,  he  had  never  seemed  so  dear  before. 
A  thousand  remembrances  of  him,  that  lie  had  long 
forgotten,  again  rushed  to  his  mind.  He  remem- 
bered him  a  wild,  impetuous,  handsome  boy,  ever 
rash,  sometimes  wayward,  often  liery  and  headstrong, 
but  always  generous.  Then,  too,  with  him  would 
perish  the  last  scion  of  his  ancient  family — the  dis- 
grace of  his  shameful  death  would  ever  cling  to  him- 
self :  and  Sir  William  bowed  his  face  on  his  hands, 
and  groaned  aloud. 

Suddenly,  a  servant  entered,  and  announced  that 
Major  Percival  was  below,  and  desired  to  see  him. 

Sir  William  was  in  no  humor  to  see  visitors,  but 
he  could  not  refuse  his  old  friend  ;  so  composing  his 
face  until  it  assumed  an  expression  of  rigid  firmness, 
he  bade  the  servant  show  him  up. 

When  the  major  entered  the  room.  Sir  William 
advanced  to  meet  him  with  extended  hand,  his  face 
looking  as  if  it  were  made  of  cast-iron,  so  stern  and 
hard  was  it. 

"To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  visit* 
major  ?"  was  his  very  unusual  mode  of  addressing  his 
friend. 

"  To  a  very  unhappy  circumstance,  Sir  William  !" 
was  the  reply.    "  I  allude  to  that  affair  of  your  son's." 

Sir  William's  brow  grew  dark. 

"  Proceed  I"  he  said  stiffly, 

**I  hear  that  you  have  condemned  him  to  be  shot 


ijH* 


DOOVED. 


98 


as  a  spy  I"  said  the  Major,  nettled  by  the  baronet's 
tone  ;  **  it  is  impossible,  sir,  you  can  have  done  so 
monstrous  an  act." 

•*  Not  at  all  impossible.  Major  Percival  I"  said  Sir 
William,  coldly.  "  I  have  condemned  him  to  death." 

"  But  you  cannot  mean  to  execute  such  a  sentence. 
Good  Heavens,  sir,  you  will  not  become  the  mur- 
derer of  your  own  son  !"  exclaimed  the  major,  in  a 
tone  of  horror. 

"Major  Percival,  the  young  man  is  guilty  I  His 
is  a  double  crime — he  is  a  spy  and  traitor.  Sir,  he 
deserves  death  !"  said  Sir  William,  with  stately  dig- 
nity. 

"  He  is  none  the  less  your  son  !'* 

"Were  he  my  father,  sir,  he  should  die," 

"Sir  William  Stanley,  have  you  the  heart  of  a 
fiend  ?  Will  you  be  barbarous,  inhuman  enough  to 
condemn  your  only  son  to  a  disgraceful  death  ? 
Zounds!  sir!  the  very  brutes  of  the  forests  would 
not  be  guilty  of  such  a  deed  !" 

"  Sir,  I  trust  I  know  my  duty  !" 

"  Duty  !"  exclaimed  the  passionate  old  man,  "  I 
tell  you,  Sir  William  Stanley,  that  sort  of  cant  is 
ridiculous  !  Duty  forsooth  !  As  if  it  was  a  man's  duty 
to  commit  a  civil  murder — for  it  is  a  murder,  say 
what  you  will — because  you  fancy  him  a  spy.  i  tell 
you,  sir,  if  you  slay  your  own  son,  liis  blood  will  cry 
out  from  the  earth  for  vengeance  on  his  murderer  !" 

Major  Percival  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  stood 
gesticulating,  flushed,  excited,  fiery,  before  Sir 
William.  The  baronet's  face  seemed  to  be  made  of 
marble  for,  though  he  rose  to  his  feet,  it  was  as  calm 
and  immovable  as  iron.  There  was  something  in 
that  stern,  still  look  that  awed  and  subdued  the  fiery 
wrath  of  his  more  excitable  companioo. 


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DOOMED. 


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**  Major  Percival,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded 
strangely  impressive  in  its  deep  calmness,  **  I  have 
listened  to  your  words,  and  I  forgive  your  insults, 
though,  should  they  be  repeated,  my  servants  shall 
show  you  out.  And  now,  sir,  hear  me  j  as  well  might 
you  talk  to  this  table,  with  the  hope  of  winning  it  to 
answer  you  as  to  plead  for  forgiveness  for  him. 
To-morrow  by  day-dawn  he  dies,  and  no  power 
under  heaven  can  save  his  life.  You  have  my  answer, 
sir." 

He  paused.  His  cold,  impressive  voice  had  stilled 
the  excited  feelings  of  the  major.  He  felt  his  words 
were  ill-chosen,  and  with  the  determination  of  being 
more  careful,  he  resolved  to  try  again. 

"  Sir  William,"  he  began,  "  we  are  old  friends,  and 
I  feel  you  will  pardon  words  uttered  in  the  heat  of 
anger.  I  feel  an  interest,  nay,  an  affection,  for  your 
son,  he  saved  my  daughter's  life  at  the  risk  of  his 
own,  and  it  is  but  natural  I  should  plead  for  him." 

A  stiff  bow  and  cold  silence  was  his  sole  reply. 

"  Once  again  then,"  continued  the  major,  "  I 
implore  you  to  retract  this  sentence.  Think  of  the 
long,  cheerless  old  age  before  you,  without  the  strong 
arm  of  a  son  to  lean  upon,  without  a  relative  on 
earth  to  close  your  eyes.  For  his  dead  mother's  sake, 
sir,  spare  your  son's  life  !" 

A  sudden  start  followed  the  abrupt  words,  and  a 
spasm  of  intense  agony  passed  over  the  face  of  the 
baronet.     The  major  noticed  it,  and  continued: 

"  You  will  pardon  him,  I  am  sure  ;  your  heart  is 
not  made  of  iron.  For  your  own  sake,  my  old  friend, 
grant  me  this  boon  !" 

"  Enough,  sir  !"  interrupted  the  baronet,  around 
whose  mouth  a  look  of  immovable  sternness  had  set- 
tled ;  "I  will  hear  no  more  ;  you  plead  in  vain.     I 


DOOMED. 


95 


know  my  diit)%  Major  Percival.  Frederic  Stanley 
has  been  tried,  and  found  guilty  ;  and  ere  the  sun 
rises  to-morrow,  he  shall  die  !" 

There  was  an  almost  passionate  solemnity  in  his 
tone.  He  looked  as  some  Spartan  hero  of  old  might 
of  done  when  about  to  sacrifice  what  was  dearest  to 
him  on  earth. 

"  Then,  Sir  William  Stanley,"  said  Major  Percival, 
growing  absolutely  white  with  anger,  "  our  friend- 
ship is  forever  at  an  end  !" 

"  As  you  please,  sir !"  replied  the  baronet,  with  a 
stiff  bow. 

"  Now,  mark  my  words,  unfeeling  man  !"  ex- 
claimed the  major,  with  a  solemnity  almost  equal  to 
his  own,  "  if  you  slay  your  own  son,  you  will  repent 
it  in  dust  and  ashes.  A  miserable  old  age  will  be 
yours — shunned  by  men,  and  accursed  by  God  !" 

"  Go  !"  said  the  baronet,  white  and  choked  with 
rage,  as  he  held  the  door  open  and  pointed  out. 

And  without  a  word.  Major  Percival  took  his  hat, 
and  left  the  house. 


The  chill  gray  dawn  of  morning  looked  with  its 
pale,  wan  face  on  many  scenes. 

It  beheld  Edith  Percival,  after  a  restless  night, 
kneeling  with  clasped  hands  by  the  window,  praying 
for  strength,  and  thinking  of  one,  now  dearer  than 
life  itself.  It  saw  Sir  William  Stanley,  cowering  in 
his  room,  white  and  ghastly,  with  an  awful  look  of 
fixed,  settled  despair  in  his  stony  eyes,  shrinking  in 
horror  as  the  moments  flew  by,  bringing  the  dreaded 
hour  nearer  and  nearer.  It  looked  through  the  little 
grating,  with  its  sad,  pitiful  e>es,  into  the  lonely  cell 
in  which  Fred  Stanley  was  confined.  He  lay  on  the 
rude  cot  in  a  deep  sleep — so  still,  so  dreamless,  that 


96 


DOOMED. 


!        t. 


[i 


but  for  the  deep,  regular  breathing,  one  might  mis- 
take it  for  death.  His  long,  luxuriant  locks  fell  darkly 
over  his  white  brow,  saddening  the  still,  marble-like 
face.  His  was  the  profound  slumber  that  follows 
strong  excitement  of  any  kind,  and  he  looked  so 
calm,  so  tranquil,  that  even  the  jailer  shrank  from 
wakening  him,  with  a  feeling  akin  to  pity  for  his 
youth  and  sad  fate. 

But  the  noise  of  the  creaking  door  aroused  him. 
Starting  up  he  looked  around  with  a  bewildered 
air.  The  narrow  cell,  that  grated  window,  the  hard- 
looking  jailer,  too  soon  brought  memory  back.  He 
had  slept  for  the  last  time.  For  a  moment  his  face 
flushed  deep  crimson,  then  the  blood  retreated  to  his 
heart,  leaving  him  paler  than  before. 

**  Why  do  you  wait .?"  he  demanded,  turning  to  the 
jailer.     "  I  am  ready." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  as  he  spoke.  Several  men 
entered  the  cell  ;  but  he  scarcely  noticed  them,  as 
murmuring  a  silent  prayer  for  mercy,  he  proceeded 
to  the  court-yard. 

Several  soldiers  with  fixed  muskets  stood  ready. 
At  a  little  distance  was  Sir  William  Stanley  ;  and 
no  one,  to  look  at  his  pale,  but  rigidly  calm  face, 
could  dream  of  the  intense  anguish  he  endured. 

A  man  advanced  with  a  handkerchief,  but  waving 
him  back  with  an  air  of  calm  command,  Fred  said  : 

**  Stand  aside  !     I  will  not  have  my  eyes  bound." 

"  It  matters  not  I"  said  Sir  William,  seeing  the  man 
hesitated.  Then,  turning  to  the  soldiers,  he  said : 
**  When  I  give  the  word,  you  will — " 

He  paused.  With  all  his  firm  self-command,  he 
could  not  finish  the  sentence. 

**  Kneel  !"  he  said,  turning  sternly  to  Fred,  but  his 


KAJOS  PESOIYAL  IN  A   ^'  STATE  07  MIND.' 


97 


face  vvas  like  that  of  a  corpse.     "  Now,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  others,  and  raising  his  arm,  "fi — '* 

**Hoid  !"  cried  a  voice,  so  deep,  go  sepulchral,  that 
every  one  started,  and  the  next  moment  the  Hermit 
of  the  Cliffs  stood  before  them. 


A 


CHAPTER  X. 

MAJOR  PERCIVAL   IN    A    "STATE  OF  MIND." 

"  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  I  cou'ia  ever  read. 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth.** 

— Shakespeare. 


There  was  a  moment's  profound  silence,  and  the 
group  standing  in  the  court-yard,  in  the  gray  dawn 
of  the  morning,  might  have  formed  a  subject  for  a 
painter. 

The  soldiers  in  a  row,  with  gleaming  muskets 
presented,  now  motionless  in  surprise.  Fred,  still 
kneeling  in  momentary  expectation  of  death — Sir 
William  Stanley,  transfixed  with  amazement,  staring 
at  the  new-comer — and  the  hermit  himself  looking 
exactly  the  same  as  when  Fred  and  Edith  had  met 
him  on  the  cliffs. 

"  Who  are  you,  sirrah  ?"  demanded  Sir  William, 
who  was  the  first  to  recover  his  presence  of  mind. 

"  No  friend  of  yours,  Sir  William  Stanley,"  replied 
the  deep  tones  of  the  hermit. 

"  And  how  dare  you  venture  here,  man  or  madman, 
or  whatever  you  may  be  ?"  cried  the  baronet,  fiercely. 

Away  with  you,  or  you  shall  repent  this  intrusion." 


n 


M 


98        MAJOR  PERCIVAL  IN  A   "  BTATB   OP  MIND." 


1 


fp 


\ 


I! 


f  i 


"Not  at  thy  command  will  I  go,"  replied  thf 
hermit,  loftily.  "  No  man  on  earth  can  make  me  do 
otherwise  than  as  I  please." 

"Then,  by  all  the  fiends  in  flames,  /will make  you 
do  otherwise,"  shouted  the  enraged  baronet.  *'  Here, 
some  of  you,  arrest  this  hoary  dotard,  until  we  teach 
him  that  our  commands  are  not  to  be  disobeyed  with 
impunity." 

"  Back  !"  cried  the  hermit,  waving  his  hand  ma- 
jesticcilly.     "Touch  me  not  at  your  peril." 

"  Who  is  this  old  fool  ?"  asked  Sir  William  angrily. 

"One  you  have  reason  to  fear,  proud  man,"  re- 
plied the  calm  voice  of  the  hermit. 

**  Now,  by  Heaven  !  this  is  too  much  !"  exclaimed 
the  baronet,  fiercely.  "  What  !  have  you  all  turned 
cowards,  that  no  one  dares  raise  a  finger  against 
this  gray  lunatic  ?  Be  off,  old  man,  I  do  not  wish 
to  harm  you.     Do  you  hear  ?" 

"  On  one  condition  only  will  I  go,"  replied  the 
hermit,  folding  his  arms,  and  gazing  steadily  in  the 
eyes  of  the  angry  baronet. 

"Must  I,  then,  make  conditions  with  you  ?"  said 
Sir  William  sarcastically.  "  Pray  name  it  most  ven- 
erable father." 

"  That  you  allow  yonder  kneeling  youth  to  go 
forth  free,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

For  a  moment.  Sir  William's  face  grew  absolutely 
black  with  rage.  He  stood  quivering,  speechless 
with  suppressed  passion. 

"  Nay,  Sir  William,"  said  the  old  man.  in  a  tone  of 
conscious  power,  "  There  is  no  need  to  look  so  en- 
raged.    I  can  make  you  do  it." 

He  walked  over,  as  he  spoke,  to  where  the  baronet 
stood,  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear.  The 
effect  was  appalling.    Sir  William  staggered  back, 


MAJOR  PERCIVAL  IN  A   "  STATE   OF  MIND."         99 


with  ghastly  face  and  straining  eye-balls,  then  with 
one  wild  cry  :  "  Oh^  Great  Heaven  /"  the  strong  man 
fell  stricken  to  the  ground. 

All  were  bewildered,  amazed,  terrified  !  Several 
rushed  forward  to  raise  the  prostrate  man,  whilst  the 
others  surrounded  Fred,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet, 
under  the  vague  impression  that  he  was  in  some  way 
about  to  escape.  The  hermit,  as  he  passed  him, 
whispered  "  Fear  not,  you  are  safe  !"  And  a  moment 
after  he  was  gone. 

Fred  was  reconducted  back  to  prison  like  one  in  a 
dream.  What  strange,  mysterious  power  did  this 
singular  old  man  possess  ?  He  knew  all  the  events 
of  Fred's  past  life,  seemingly,  as  well  as  he  did  him- 
self ;  and  in  a  few  words  had  produced  an  effect  upon 
Sir  William  Stanley  such  as  no  human  being  had 
ever  done  before.     He  could  not  account  for  it. 

It  seemed  to  Fred  that  that  day  would  never  come 
to  an  end.  He  paced  up  and  down  his  narrow  pre- 
cincts until  he  was  tired,  and  then  threw  himself  on 
the  wooden  bench,  forced  to  resign  himself  to  the 
prospect  of  remaining  another  night  in  his  dreary 
cell.  He  shortly  after  heard  the  key  turning  in  the 
lock  ;  and  the  next  moment  a  tall,  muffled  figure 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Come  witli  me,"  said  a  deep  voice,  that  Fred 
easily  recognized  as  his  father's. 

The  young  man  arose,  and  followed  him  through 
a  long,  dark  corridor,  until  they  reached  the  court- 
yard.    Fred  glanced  around  at  it  with  a  shudder. 

"  Go,  you  are  free,"  said  his  conductor.  And  Fred 
noticed  now  for  the  first  time  how  hoarse  and  un- 
natural was  his  voice.  "  Beware  how  you  fall  into 
my  hands  again  !     Go." 

Mechanically,  the  young    man  obeyed  ;    and    he 


li 


H 


100     MAJOB  PEBOIVAL  IN  A  *^STATB  OF  liUfD." 


found  himself  in  the  street  like  one  who  walks  in  his 
slrep,  half  tempted  to  believe  the  events  of  the  past 
few  days  were  nothing  but  a  dream. 

His  first  thought  was  whither  he  should  direct  his 
steps.  He  did  not  know  where  Nugent  Percival 
was  stopping,  or  he  might  have  sought  him  out. 
And  by  a  very  natural  transition,  whilst  thinking  of 
the  brother,  his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  sister,  and 
he  was  just  falling  into  a  delightful  day-dream  of 
going  to  housekeeping  with  Edith,  when  a  tap  on 
the  shoulder  startled  him,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  a 
man  by  his  side  wrapped  in  a  long,  dark  cloak. 

"  Whither  now,  Frederic  Stanley  ?"  said  the  well- 
known  voice  of  the  hermit. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you  ?"  said  Fred,  a  little  surprised  by 
his  sudden  appearance.  "  This  meeting  is  most  for- 
tunate.    Sir,  I  owe  you  my  life." 

*'  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  the  hermit,  quietly. 

*•  How  can  I  show  you  my  gratitude  for  what  you 
have  done  ?  Believe  me,  I  am  not  insensible  to  the 
great  obligation  under  which  you  have  laid  me." 

"  Cease  your  thanks,  young  man,"  interrupted  the 
hermit,  in  a  tone  of  slight  impatience.  **  The  only 
return  I  ask  is,  that  you  will  in  all  things  be  guided 
by  my  counsels.  Nay,"  he  added,  seeing  an  irreso- 
lute expression  on  Fred's  face,  "  believe  me,  I  will 
ask  you  to  do  nothing  inconsistent  with  your  duty, 
or  even  your  overweening  pride." 

There  was  a  tone  of  slight  sarcasm  in  the  last 
words.  Fred  felt  half-ashamed  of  his  momentary 
hesitation. 

"  You  may  command  me,"  he  said.  "  I  owe  you 
more  than  I  can  ever  repay.  I  do  need  some  one," 
he  added,  sorrowfully,  "  to  stand  between  me  and 
my  own   headstrong  passions.     If  you  are,  indeed. 


HAJOB  PEBOIVAL  VSt  A  *<  STATE  OF  HmD."      101 


my  friend — and  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  it— I 
promise  to  be  guided  by  your  counsels." 

Something  like  a  look  of  pleasure  shone  in  the 
eyes  of  the  hermit.  It  quickly  passed  away,  how- 
ever, and  when  he  again  spoke,  his  voice  had  resumed 
his  usual  quiet  tone. 

"Come  with  me,  then,"  said  the  hermit,  passing 
his  arm  through  that  of  the  young  man.  **  I  have  a 
friend  residing  here,  with  whom  you  can  remain 
until  you  wish  to  depart." 

Both  walked  rapidly  and  in  silence  for  a  short 
distance.  Reaching,  at  length,  a  small,  but  comfort- 
able-looking inn,  the  hermit,  who  seemed  familiar 
with  the  place,  ordered  a  private  room  to  be  pre- 
pared, whither  he  repaired  with  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  began,  seating  himself,  "  may  I  ask 
what  you  intend  doing  with  yourself  ?" 

The  question  was  so  abrupt,  that  Fred  could  not 
resist  a  smile. 

"  Really,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  I  scarcely  know  how  to 
answer  you.  In  the  first  place,  I  intend  to  return  to 
my  regiment." 

**  Before  you  visit  Percival  Hall  ?"  inquired  the 
hermit,  fixing  his  eyes  with  a  peculiar  expression  on 
his  companion's  face. 

Fred  started  and  flushed.  His  first  emotion  was 
one  of  anger,  but  quickly  repressing  it,  he  answered 
somewhat  coldly  : 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  going  there.  May  I  beg 
to  know  why  you  ask  ?" 

"  Come,  come,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  hermit, 
"no  concealments  from  me,  if  you  wish  me  to  be- 
friend you.     You  love  Edith  Percival  ?" 


102      MAJOR   PEROIVAL   IN    A    "  STATE   OF   MIND." 


i    ( 


f  ; 


"  I  cannot  deny  it,"  replied  Fred,  half-irritated  by 
the  abrupt  question. 

**  And  she  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  another  ?" 
"  Yes,"  replied  Fred,  sternly. 

"  You  have  seen  your  rival  ?"  continued  the  hermit. 

Fred  bowed. 

"  Are  you  aware  he  is  your  deadliest  enemy  ?" 
said  his  strange  questioner. 

"  Rivals  are  not  usually  very  good  friends,"  said 
the  young  man,  scornfully.  "  It  would  be  something 
new  if  we  were  not  enemies." 

"  Young  man,  beware  of  him  !"  said  the  hermit, 
solemnly.  "  You  have  reason  to  fear  his  machina- 
tions." 

Fred  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  dashed  back  his  long, 
dark  hair,  as  he  exclaimed  impetuously  : 

"  Fear  !  I  fear  no  man  living  !  Let  him  dare  to 
meet  me  in  open  warfare,  and  I  will  teach  him  I  am 
not  to  be  insulted  with  impunity." 

"  Sir,  sir,  De  Lisle  is  no  honorable  enemy.  He 
will  not  meet  you  in  open  warfare.  He  is  subtle  and 
treacherous  as  a  serpent — his  vengeance  will  not  be 
open,  but  it  will  be  none  the  less  deadly.  You  can- 
not guard  against  a  foe  who  comes  by  stealth." 

"  Let  him  come,"  said  Fred,  scornfully.  "  I  fear 
him  not." 

"  Rash  youth  !"  said  the  hermit,  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  sorrow  and  anger.  "  You  despise  my  warn- 
ing. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Fred,  resuming  his  seat.  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  warning,  which,  however,  was 
scarcely  needed.  I  am  already  aware  that  De  Lisle 
is  my  bitterest  foe,  and  I  can  assure  you  his  dislike 
is  returned  with  compound  interest.    I  neither  intend 


ICAJOB  rEBCITAL  IN   A 


"STATl  OP  MIHD.** 


108 


to  seek  him  nor  to  avoid  him  ;  but  should  we  meet 
in  honorable  combat,  one  or  other  of  us  shall  fall." 

There  was  a  moments  silence,  during  which  the 
hermit  sat  with  his  eyes  cast  down  like  one  lost  in 
thought. 

"  Does  Major  Percival  know  you  love  his  daugh- 
ter ?"  asked  he,  abruptly,  looking  up. 

"  No,"  said  Fred,  shrinking  sensitively,  as  he 
always  did,  from  discussing  such  a  subject. 

"  Do  you  intend  telling  him  ?"  continued  his 
unwearing  interlocutor. 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.  I  must  beg  you  will  drop 
this  subject,"  said  Fred,  with  stern  impatience. 

"  My  young  friend,  do  not  be  angry.  I  have  the 
power,  and,  let  me  add,  the  will,  to  assist  you. 
With  the  natural  fiery  impatience  of  youth,  you  can- 
not brook  any  interference  in  this  matter  now  ;  but, 
believe  me,  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  not  be 
so  sensitive.  Do  you  know  Major  Percival's  present 
address  ?" 

"  No  I"  said  Fred,  eagerly.  *'  And  I  am  very  anx- 
ious to  see  his  son,  too." 

"  This  is  it,  then,"  said  the  hermit,  writing  as  he 
spoke  on  a  card.  "  And  now,  farewell  for  the  pres- 
ent.    Make  this  your  home  while  you  stay  here." 

"  Going  so  soon  ?"  said  Fred,  rising,  scarcely 
knowing  whether  he  felt  pleased  or  otherwise  by  his 
absence. 

"  Yes,  I  cannot  now  remain  longer,  but  I  shall 
watch  over  you — not  as  a  spy  on  your  actions,  but  as 
a  friend  who  takes  a  deep  interest  in  your  welfare. 
Some  day  it  will  need  no  argument  to  convince  you 
of  this.    Good-night,  my  son." 

He  folded  his  cloak  around  him,  bowed  gravely, 
and  was  gone. 


104      MAJOR  PKROIVAL   IN   A   '*  STATE  OF   MIND." 


!>  • 


!  I 


i?  I 


SI 


"  Well,  I  musf  say,"  he  observed,  throwing  himself 
in  a  seat, "  of  all  the  incomprehensible  old  gentle- 
men ever  I  met,  this  half-crazed,  wonderfully-wise 
Hermit  of  the  Cliffs  beats  them  all.  Here  he  gives 
me  a  lecture  as  long  as  the  moral  law,  and  orders 
me  about  as  though  I  were  of  no  consequence  at  all ; 
and  I,  who  was  always  headstrong  and  rebellious, 
obey  as  meekly  as  though  I  were  not  old  enough  to 
judge  for  myself.  That  man  is  a  mystery.  I  would 
give  a  trifle  to  know  by  what  wonderful  spell  he 
saved  my  life.  Telling  me  he  will  watch  over  me, 
too,  as  though  I  were  a  child.  I  am  afraid,  if  he 
watches  over  me  too  much,  I  will  be  inclined  to  resist. 
There's  Major  Percival's  address — I'll  pay  my 
respects  there  to-night  ;  it  is  early  yet." 

So  saying,  he  arose,  took  his  hat,  and  quitted  the 
house. 

Becoming  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  again,  he 
was  quite  unconscious  how  rapidly  he  was  striding 
along,  until  he  struck  against  some  one  who  was 
passing,  so  violently  as  nearly  to  knock  him  down. 

*•  Better  not  try  that  again,"  said  the  angry  voice 
of  the  person  he  run  against,  as  by  seizing  hold  of  a 
lamp-post  he  recovered  his  equilibrium. 

"  Nugent  Percival  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  laughing  ; 
**  don't  you  know  me." 

**  fVAai /"  exclaimed  Percival,  drawing  back 
aghast,  '*  Fred  Stanley,  by  all  that's  wonderful  !  Can 
this  be  you,  or  is  it  only  your  ghost  ?" 

**  Myself,  my  dear  Nugent  ;  my  veritable  self," 
said  Fred,  passing  his  arm  through  his,  and  drawing 
him  along,  for  Percival  seemed  too  much  astonished 
to  move.  "  I  have  not  the  least  hesitation  in  assur- 
ing you,  I  am  myself — as  good  as  a  score  of  ghosts 
yet." 


XAJOB  PEBOIVAL  IN   ▲   '' STATE  OF  MIND."      105 

"Well,  wonders  will  never  cease  !"  said  Percival, 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  and  surveying  his  companion 
as  though  still  in  doubt.  *'  Here  I  was  going  along 
bewailing  your  untimely  end,  when,  lo  !  you  start 
up  as  safe  and  sound  as  ever.  My  dear  Fred,  have 
compassion  on  me,  and  tell  me  how  it  all  occurred. 
Did  your  father  relent,  as  I  told  you  he  would?" 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  Fred  related  what  had 
occurred.  Percival  listened  with  a  look  of  the 
utmost  wonder.  "  Phew  !"  was  his  comment  when 
Fred  ceased,  with  a  long  whistle  of  most  sublime 
perplexity.  *'  If  the  hermit  is  not  Old  Nick  himself, 
he  must  be  a  near  relation.  What  a  providential 
escape  !  My  father  called  to  see  Sir  William,  and 
came  home  in  a  towering  passion  because  all  his 
entreaties  failed  ;  and  here  this  unknown,  moonstruck 
luiuiiic,  with  a  few  words,  has  succeeded  in  what  no 
oilit  1  earthly  being  could  have  done." 

Fred's  mouth  grew  stern. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  your  father  degraded  him- 
self so  much  for  me.  I  should  not  have  valued  a 
pardon  thus  extorted  from  him." 

"Oh  !  well  !  never  mind  ;  it  is  all  right  now,"  said 
Percival,  who  seemed  the  very  soul  of  good-nature. 
*'  My  father  will  be  rejoiced  to  hear  of  your  escape. 
And  those  at  home,  too,  thank  Heaven  !  we  will  not 
have  to  carry  them  such  direful  news." 

"I  wish,  Percival,"  said  Fred,  looking  slightly 
annoyed,  "  that  you  would  not  mention  this  affair  to 
them  when  you  return.  It  is  all  over  now,  and  it 
might  give — some  of  them  pain.  Promise  me  you 
will  say  nothing  about  it." 

"Oh,  certainly  !"  replied  Nugent, '*  but  they  will 
be  sure  to  hear  it.     De  Lisle,  of  course,  wUl  find  out 


' 


m 


m^ 


i?^' 


w 


i '  *  ■' 


.  >■     s 


I 


^      ^ 


I  i 


i  ! 


l! 


106      MAJOB  PERCIVAL  IN  A    "  STATE  OF  MIND." 

all  about  it,  and  retail  it  to  them  with  the  greatest 
gusto." 

"  His  only  regret  will  be  that  I  did  escape,"  said 
Fred  biting  his  lip. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  but,  of  course,  you're  too  sensi- 
ble a  fellow  to  care.  You'll  return  home  with  me, 
will  you  not?" 

"  No,"  said  Fred,  coldly,  "I  shall  not  trespass  on 
your  hospitality  so  soon  again.  My  path  of  duty 
lies  in  another  direction." 

**  Well,  I  wish  you  luck,  and  now  we  must  part  for 
an  hour  or  so  ;  for  my  path  of  duty  at  present  lies 
up  the  next  street.  You  know  where  to  find  my 
father ;  I  will  see  you  there  when  I  return." 

**  Until  then,"  said  Fred,  raising  his  hat,  and  turn- 
ing leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  hotel. 

A  few  moments  brought  him  to  it,  and  inquiring 
for  Major  Percival,  he  was  shown  at  once  to  his 
room. 

The  major  chanced  to  be  thinking  of  him  at  the 
time — thinking  of  his  relentless  father,  and  the  sad 
fate  of  the  son  in  dying  fo  young,  when,  hearing  the 
door  open,  he  suddenly  looked  up,  and  beheld  the 
object  of  his  thoughts  standing  in  the  doorway,  so 
tall,  and  dark,  and  pale,  that  he  might  easily  have 
mistaken  him  for  a  ghost.  Starting  to  his  feet,  the 
major  stood  staring  at  him,  as  though  he  doubted 
the  evidence  of  his  senses. 

"  You  seem  surprised,  Major  Percival,"  said  Fred, 
advancing  toward  him.  "  I  presume  you  expected 
ere  this  that  I  was  numbered  among  the  things  that 
were." 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  **  do  I  really  see  alive 
before   me,  Frederic  Stanley  ?"    And    the  major's 


greatest 
)e,"  said 

)0  sensi- 
ith  me, 

pass  on 
of  duty 

part  for 
ent  lies 
find  my 

id  turn- 
quiring 
:  to  his 

n  at  the 
the  sad 
ring  the 
e!d  the 
way,  so 
ily  have 
"eet,  the 
loubted 

d  Fred, 
Kpected 
igs  that 

:e  alive 
major's 


XAJOB  PEBOIYAL   IN  A 


"state  of  mind." 


107 


face  assumed  a  look  of  amazement  most  wonderful 
to  behold. 

Fred  smiled  at  his  perplexity  ;  and  once  again 
repeated  the  tale  of  his  narrow  escape.  The  major 
listened  with  a  look  of  utter  bewilderment,  now  and 
then  ejaculating  :  ♦*  Well,  well  !"  "  Jupiter  !"  "  Won- 
derful !"  and  sundry  other  expressions  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  And  have  you  no  idea  who  this  Hermit  of  the 
Cliffs,  as  they  call  him,  is  ?"  he  inquired,  when  Fred 
paused. 

"  None,  sir.  The  man  is  a  mystery  to  every  one, 
and  I  believe  is  generally  looked  upon  as  a  harmless 
madman." 

"There  seems  to  be  method  in  his  madness,  how- 
ever !"  said  the  major,  "  it  is  indeed  most  wonderful 
what  influence  he  can  possess  over  your  father ! 
Sir  William  Stanley  and  I  were  schoolmates  once, 
and  intimate  friends  in  after  life.  I  saved  his  life 
once,  and  in  his  gratitude  he  promised  that  the  first 
favor  it  would  ever  be  in  his  power  to  grant  to  me 
should  be  given.  The  first  I  ever  asked  of  him  was 
to  grant  his  own  son  his  life — and  it  was  angrily 
refused.  Yet  here,  at  the  last  moment,  a  moon- 
struck maniac  come3  along,  and  at  his  first  word 
your  life  is  spared.     Strange  !     Strange  !" 

"  I  fear  it  will  always  remain  strange''  said  Fred, 
"  neither  my  father  nor  the  hermit  are  likely  to 
reveal  it.  I  fear  there  my  be  some  crime  connected 
with  this  mystery." 

"  Well,  it  is  useless  for  us  to  perplex  ourselves 
trying  to  find  it  out !"  said  the  major.  "  And  now, 
to  change  the  subject.  We  return  to  Percival  Hall 
to-morrow,  and  I  beg  you  will  accompany  us,' 


K      I 


*» 


108      MAJOR   PERCIVAL  IN  A   "  STATE   OF  MIND," 


H:f: 


1.1 


U 


f 


"  I  thank  you,  Major  Percival  ;  but  I  must  decline 
your  invitation  !"  replied  Fred. 

"  Oh,  pooh  !  pooh  •  I'll  take  no  refusal,  you  must 
come  !"  interrupted  the  major,  heartily. 

He  looked  up  in  the  young  man's  face  as  he  spoke, 
and  was  almost  startled  by  its  cold,  proud  expres- 
sion. 

"Come,  my  dear  Stanley,  do  not  refuse!  You 
will  spend  a  few  days  with  us  at  least !"  he  said, 
courteojsly. 

"  I  regret,  sir,  that  I  must  refuse  !"  was  the  frigid 
reply. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  not  come  now,"  continued  the 
major,  who  seemed  in  an  unusually  hospitable  mood, 
"  promise  to  do  so  in  a  few  weeks.  My  daughter 
Edith  is  to  be  married  about  that  time,  and  we 
should  all  like  you  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony." 

Fred  had  arisen  as  the  other  spoke  ;  and  now 
Major  Percival  looked  up  in  bewilderment  to  see  him 
looming  up  above  him  so  high,  so  dark,  so  passion- 
ate-looking. He  ceased  speaking  abruptly,  and 
stood  staring  at  him  in  wonder. 

"  Major  Percival,"  said  Fred,  in  a  voice  so  deep 
and  stern  as  quite  to  startle  that  worthy  man, "  I  can- 
not return  to  Percival  Hall,  because  /  love  your 
daughter.  Wait  one  moment,  sir,  and  hear  me  out  !" 
he  added,  as  the  Major  sprang  fiercely  to  his  feet. 
**  Miss  Percival  will,  you  say,  in  a  few  weeks,  be  a 
bride  ;  in  that  case  we  will  never  meet  again,  so  that 
I  can  speak  without  fear  of  misrepresentation.  Since 
the  first  mo"~ient  I  saw  your  daughter,  I  loved  her — 
loved  her,  too,  knowing  it  to  be  hopeless,  for  she  was 
then  the  betrothed  bride  of  another." 

*'  Sir,  you're  a  villain,  sir  ;  yes,  sir,  a  scoundrel, 
sir  !"  shouted  the  angry  and  deeply  horrified  major 


;}    ; 


IIAJOB  PEEOrVAL  IN  A   "  STATE  OF  MIBTD."      109 


<t 


One  moment,  sir,"  said  Fred,  with  such  frigid 
haughtiness  as  quite  to  overawe  his  excited  com- 
panion ;  **  my  intention  was  never  to  mention  this  to 
any  one,  but  the  pressing  invitations  of  both  your- 
self and  your  son  render  it  necessary.  Sir,  I  am  a 
man  of  honor,  and  as  such  could  not  again  become 
a  member  of  your  family,  knowing  that  your 
daughter  loves  me — " 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me  this  !"  cried  the  major, 
growing  absolutely  purple  with  passion, 

"  Knowing  that  she  loves  me,"  continued  Fred, 
with  the  same  stern  coldness  as  though  the  major 
had  not  spoken,  "  I  could  not  return,  and  my  con- 
tinual refusal  of  your  invitation  might  lead  to  mis- 
representation. Therefore,  sir,  I  have  told  you  all  ; 
and  now,  to  whatever  you  have  to  say  I  am  ready  to 
listen." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  like  a  statue  before 
him. 

**  My  daughter  love  you,  indeed  I  Sir,  your  con- 
duct has  been  treacherous  and  dishonorable,  sir, 
unworthy  of  a  soldier  and  a  man  of  honor,  sir  ;  yes, 
sir,  even  from  a  rebel  I  expected  better  conduct,  sir,** 
exclaimed  the  enraged  major. 

Fred  did  not  reply,  but  stood  erect,  calm  and  stern. 

*'  vV^hat  business  had  you,  sir,"  continued  the 
major,  still  more  vehemently,  "to  worm  yourself  into 
her  affections  ?  You  knew  she  was  betrothed  to 
another  ;  you  knew  I  would  sooner  see  her  dead  at 
my  feet  than  the  wife  of  a  rebel,  sir.  Believing  you 
to  be  an  honorable  young  man,  sir,  although  false  to 
your  king  and  country,  I  interceded  with  your  father 
for  your  life  as  I  never  humbled  myself  to  plead  for 
any  one  before  ;  and  in  return  you  coolly  come  here 
and  boast  that  you  have  treacherously  won  the  affec- 


110      MAJOR    PERCIVAL  IN  A   "  STATE   OF  MIND." 


t 


tions  of  my  daughter,  an  inexperienced  girl.  Sir,  I 
repeat  it,  you  are  a  villain,  sir." 

The  major  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  in  his  rage, 
that  though  he  had  interceded  in  vain  for  Fred's 
life,  that  young  man  had  saved  the  life  of  his 
daughter. 

Still  Fred,  by  a  mighty  effort,  listened  to  his  insults 
without  speaking,  or  betraying  even  that  he  heard 
his  words  save  by  the  intensely  scornful  light  in  his 
eyes. 

**  And  now,  sir,"  again  began  the  Major,  absolutely 
maddened  by  the  contemptuous  silence  of  his  listener, 
"I  never  wish  to  see  your  face  again  !  Never  pre- 
sume, sir,  to  see  my  daughter  more  ;  begone,  sir  ! 
there  is  the  door  !  I  expected  something  different 
from  you,  but  I  have  been  disappointed." 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  and 
began  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  heated  and 
inflamed  face. 

Fred  took  his  hat,  and  turning  toward  the  door, 
said  : 

"  Your  kind  and  gentlemanly  words,  Major  Perci- 
val,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten.  With  many  thanks 
for  past  courtesies,  which  I  regret  should  have  been 
lavished  on  so  unworthy  an  object,  I  have  the  honor 
to  bid  you  good-night." 

He  bowed  with  most  ceremonious  politeness,  and 
was  gone.  Despite  all  his  outward  calmness,  his 
brain  was  throbbing  and  burning  as  though  on  fire, 
and  his  passionate  heart  was  seething  with  fiery 
scorn  and  the  bitter  sense  of  wrong  and  insult  which 
must  be  tamely  borne. 

As  he  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight,  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  shoulder.  Something  of  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind  must  have  displayed  itself  on 


MAJOR  PERCIVAL  IN   A 


"STATB   OF   MIND." 


Ill 


his  face,  for  Nugent  Percival  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
of  alarm  : 

**  Stanley,  my  dear  fellow,  where  are  you  going?" 

"To  perdition  !"  was  the  passionate  reply. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Fred,  don't  look  so  wild," 
6aid  Nugent,  "  tell  me  what  has  happened.  Have 
you  told  my  father  ?" 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Fred,  fiercely.  "  I  have  told 
him  all,  and  been  loaded  with  abuse  and  insult  such 
as  no  other  man  under  heaven  would  have  dared  to 
heap  upon  me.  And  all  because  I  loved  his  daugh- 
ter. Am  I  not  her  equal  ?  answer  me  that.  Am  I 
not  as  worthy  of  her  as  that  cut-throat,  De  Lisle  ? 
Tell  me,  for  I  have  a  right  to  know  !" 

He  clutched  Percival's  arm  with  the  grip  of  a  mad- 
man, and  glared  upon  him  with  his  excited  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Stanley,  do  not  talk  so  !  You  look  as 
though  you  were  crazed.  Come  with  me  for  a  walk 
— the  cool  air  will  restore  you  to  yourself,"  said 
Nugent,  soothingly. 

He  passed  his  arm  through  Fred's,  and  drew  him 
with  him  down  the  street.  The  cool  night  air  did 
indeed  soothe  him  ;  and  after  walking  a  short  way 
in  silence,  Fred  said,  more  calmly  : 

"  Forgive  me,  Percival,  I  knew  not  what  I  was 
saying.  But  to  be  obliged  to  stand  there,  and  listen 
to  his  insults — I,  who  never  bore  a  taunt  from  any 
man — was  maddening.  I  spoke  to  him  as  coolly, 
Percival,  as  you  could  have  done  even,  though  every 
word  he  uttered  stung  me  to  the  very  soul." 

His  eye  blazed,  and  his  face  grew  livid  at  the  re- 
membrance. 

"  Do  not  think  of  his  words  :  they  were  uttered  in 
a   moment  of   passion.      Believe   me,  no  one   will 


112      MAJOR  PEKOIVAL  IN  A 


"  STATE  OP  MIirD." 


f     I 


regret  them  more  than  himself,  when  he  reflects  upon 
what  he  has  said.  There,  my  dear  fellow,  do  not 
excite  yourself,  you  look  as  though  you  were  deliri- 
ous." 

"My  head  aches  as  though  red-hot  wires  were 
passing  through  it,"  said  Fred,  removing  his  hat,  and 
shaking  back  his  hair  off  his  burning  brow,  while 
the  fierce  light  slowly  died  out  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
listened  to  the  soothing  voice  of  his  friend. 

**  Hasten  to  your  lodgings,  then  ;  you  require  rest 
and  repose,"  said  Nugent.  **  Come,  I  will  accom- 
pany you.  To-night,  you  are  wild  and  excited  ;  to- 
morrow, you  will  be  a  different  man." 

"  To-morrow,  I  trust,  I  will  be  far  from  here,"  said 
Fred. 

"  We  leave  to-morrow,  likewise,"  said  Percival, 
"  so  we  will  probably  not  meet  again  for  a  while. 
Here  we  are  at  your  stopping-place.  So,  wishing 
the  world  may  go  well  with  you  until  we  meet  again, 
I  will  bid  you  good-by." 

"  Farewell,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Fred,  wringing 
his  hand.    And  the  two  friends  parted. 


!■£•■! 


pon 
not 

liri- 

vere 
and 
iiile 
;   he 

rest 
;om- 
to- 
said 

ival, 
hile. 
hing 
?ain, 

ging 


THB    ABDUOnOlf.  113 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE     ABDUCTION. 

"  She  Stands  as  stands  the  stricken  deer, 
Checked  midway  in  the  fearful  chase ; 
When  bursts  upon  her  eye  and  ear. 
The  gaunt  gray  robber  baying  near 
Between  her  and  her  hiding  place. 
While,  still  behind,  with  yell  and  blow, 
Sweeps  like  a  storm  the  coming  foe." 

— Whittier. 

Meantime,  how  was  it  with  Edith,  and  our  friendsat 
Percival  Hall  ? 

From  the  day  of  the  departure  of  Fred,  De  Lisle 
was  most  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  his  betrothed. 
Never  before  had  he  appeared  so  deeply  in  love — 
never  had  he  been  so  devoted — never  had  he  been  so 
urgent  that  she  should  name  an  early  day  for  their 
marriage.  The  fact  of  his  having  a  rival,  had  made 
him  more  resolved  than  ever  to  compel  Edith  to  ful- 
fill her  engagement — an  engagement  from  which  he 
saw,  with  fierce  anger,  she  shrank  with  ill-concealed 
loathing.  The  cause  was  to  him  only  too  plain  ;  and 
he  inwardly  vowed,  that  once  she  was  his  wife,  and 
her  fortune  his,  to  make  her  repent  this  visible  dis- 
like. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  were  too  much 
absorbed  by  themselves  to  pay  much  attention  to 
Edith.  And  her  lover,  Gus,  who  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  forgotten  his  pat.iotism,  was  continually 
tied  to  the  apron-string  of  Nell — happy  or  jealous, 
or  irritated,  according  to  the  whim  of  that  capricious 
young  lady.    Mrs.  Percival,  wl'o  was  mostly  always 


lU 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


■V: 


absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  canvas  and  Berlin  wool, 
left  the  young  people  to  their  own  devices.  And  so 
Edith  was  forced  to  submit  to  the  hateful  attentions 
of  De  Lisle. 

Edith  had  never  been  so  deeply  distressed  before. 
There  was  no  one  in  whom  she  could  confide.  She 
dared  not  even  mention  the  secret  of  her  attachment 
to  her  mother  or  sister.  Her  father  was  soon  to 
return  ;  and  then  she  felt  sure  De  Lisle  would  so  in- 
fluence him  with  his  specious  reasoning,that  he  would 
insist  upon  her  marrying  him  immediately.  But 
gentle  and  yielding  as  Edith  naturally  was,  and  much 
as  she  feared  her  father,  she  had  a  fund  of  natural 
firmness — an  unbending  determination,  which  few 
gave  her  credit  for.  She  might  never  see  Fred  again; 
but  she  was  firmly  resolved  to  die  sooner  than  marry 
De  Lisle. 

But,  in  the  meantime,  she  shunned  and  detested 
her  suitor  as  much  as  possible.  She  could  catch,  at 
times,  the  fierce  gleam  of  his  eye,  as  her  voice  would 
involuntary  become  cold  when  he  addressed  her,  or 
she  would  shrink  from  taking  his  proffered  arm. 
And  so,  troubled  by  the  present  and  dreading  the 
future,  Edith  grew  silent,  and  pale,  and  restless, 
passing  her  nights  in  tears  and  sighs  instead  of 
slumber. 

Seating  herself  at  her  chamber-window  one  night, 
her  head  leaning  on  her  hand,  Edith  was  lost  in 
thought,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Nell,  in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  entered. 

"  Why,  Edith  !  what  have  you  done  to  De  Lisle  ?'* 
exclaimed  Nell.  "  I  saw  him  go  off,  looking  as  cross 
as  a  bear  a  few  moments  ago.  Seems  to  me  you  and 
he  don't  agree  so  well  as  you  used  to.  What  did 
you  say  to  him  ?" 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


115 


of 


.  V* 


**  Nothing,"  replied  Edith. 

"  Well,  I'd  advise  you  to  say  something  next  time," 
said  Nell.  "  and  not  drive  the  poor  fellow  to  distrac- 
tion. I  declare,  Edith,  I  never  knew  the  like  of  you 
and  Ralph — you're  forever  making  him  angry.  Now, 
there's  Gus  and  I,  we  get  along  swimmingly  together. 
Lovers  !  If  you  quarrel  in  this  manner  after  you're 
married,  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  life  you'll  lead." 

Edith's  face  was  hidden  by  her  fallen  hair,  and 
Nell  could  not  see  the  expression  of  her  face.  After 
a  pause,  that  young  lady  returned  : 

"  I  heard  mamma  and  De  Lisle  talking  about  the 
wedding  to-night.  Papa  has  sent  word  that  he  will 
be  at  home  in  a  day  or  two,  and  has  got  some  new 
crotchet  into  his  head  ;  for  he  says  he  wishes  the 
marriage  to  take  place  immediately.  De  Lisle  is 
wonderfully  pleased  about  it,  too  ;  he  was  awfully 
jealous  when  Mr.  Stanley  was  here.  Oh,  Edith ! 
isn't  he  a  splendid-looking  fellow  ?" 

But  to  Nell's  stfrprise,  Edith  only  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands,  and  wept  convulsively. 

"  Why,  bless  me  !  what's  the  matter  ?  Have  1 
said  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings  ?  Tell  me,  what 
is  it,  Edith  ?"  said  Nell,  winding  her  arms  around 
her  sister's  neck.     "  What  are  you  crying  for  ?" 

"  Ellen,  I  am  so  wretched,"  sobbed  Edith. 

"  Wretched  !  what  about  ?  Don't  you  want  to 
marry  De  Lisle  ?"  asked  Nell. 

"  No,  no  ;  no,  no  !  Oh,  Nell !  I  hate  even  to  think 
of  it,"  said  Edith,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Well  now,  that's  odd,"  said  Nell,  meditati^'ely. 
"  Why,  I  thought  you  liked  him  !" 

**  Like  him  !  Heaven  forgive  me — I  almost  hate 
him  !"  said  Edith,  with  a  shudder. 

"  La  I"  ejaculated  Nell,  "  whom  do  you  like  then  ? 


11(5 


THE   ABDUOnOlf. 


Edith,  Edith  !  is  what  Ralph  says  true  ? — do  you  love 
Fred  Stanley  ?" 

Edith  hid  her  face  in  her  falling  hair,  and  answered 
only  by  a  shivering  sob.  Nell's  gay  face  wore  a  half- 
puzzled,  half-troubled,  half-pleased  look. 

"  Well,  Edith,"  she  said,  aftei  a  little  thoughtful 
pause,  "do  you  know  I'm  more  than  half  glad  you 
don't  care  for  De  Lisle  ?  He's  a  jealous,  suspicious 
fellow,  and  not  half  good  enough  for  you.  My  ! 
just  see  him  alongside  Mr.  Stanley,  why,  he  looks  a 
mere  puppy  compared  with  him.  Really,  if  it  wasn't 
for  poor  dear  Gus,  I'd  be  desperately  in  love  with 
him  myself." 

Edith  tipped  her  head,  and  gave  her  sister  such  a 
radiant  look  of  gratitude,  that  the  latter  was  quite 
startled. 

"  But,  oh,  Nell !  what  shall  I  do  ?"  said  Edith,  in 
distress. 

"  DoV  said  Nell,  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "Why, 
refuse  him,  of  course  !** 

"  But  papa — he  will  be  so  angry  !" 

"Yes,  I  know,  oh  !  he'll  be  awful.  But,  la  !  that's 
no  reason  why  you  should  marry  De  Lisle,  if  you 
don't  like  him.  He  can't  kill  you,  you  know,  and  so 
you'll  get  off.     You  needn't  care  for  a  scolding." 

**  Oh,  Nell,  I  dare  not,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Afraid  !"  repeated  Nell,  contemptuously.  "  Edith, 
I  wouldn't  be  such  a  coward  as  you  for  all  the 
world  I  Afraid,  indeed  !  Oh,  don't  I  wish  it  was  me 
they  wanted  to  marry.  Wouldn't  I  tell  them  a  piece 
of  my  mind,  and  just  let  them  storm  as  much  as  they 
liked.  I'd  walk  up  to  the  altar  and  marry  a  fellow 
I  detested,  because  papa  and  the  gentleman  himself 
desired  it }  Oh  !  wouldn't  I,  though  ?"  And  Nell 
whirled  round  in  an  ironical  pirouette. 


THE    ABDUCTION. 


117 


"But  you  know,  Nell,  papa  is  so  violent." 

"Violent?  Fiddlesticks!  Vou  be  violent,  too; 
that's  the  way  to  do  it.  Put  your  arms  a-kimbo,  and 
tell  them  all  up  and  down  you  won't  have  him  ;  and  if 
De  Lisle  gets  mad,  and  tears  around,  just  lell  him 
you  are  sorry  for  him — but  he's  too  late  for  supper." 

"  Oh,  Nell,  you  know  I  couldn't  do  that  !"  said 
Edith. 

"  No  !"  said  Nell,  sarcastically,  "  no  ;  but  you  could 
go  and  marry  one  man  while  you  love  another. 
Well,  do  as  you  please,  and  the  first  time  I  see  Fred 
Stanley,  I'll  tell  him  he  has  had  a  lucky  escape.  Such 
a  timid  thing  as  you  are,  would  be  the  last  a  high- 
spirited  fellow  like  him  should  marry." 

•'Sister,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel .'"  said  Edith, 
weeping. 

"  Bother  !  You'd  provoke  a  saint.  Thank  the 
stars  I'm  able  to  defend  myself.  Come,  Edith,"  she 
added  more  gently,  "  be  a  man.  Dry  your  eyes,  and 
don't  make  a  goose  of  yourself.  Tell  De  Lisle  to- 
morrow you  won't  have  him  ;  tell  him  you  can't 
bear  him,  and  that  you  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  was 
the  last  man  in  the  world.  He'll  be  mad,  and  make 
a  fuss,  of  course — there  wouldn't  be  any  fun  in  it  if 
he  didn't.  Then,  when  papa  comes  home,  tell  him 
the  same,  and  s^ick  to  it.  Of  course,  they'll  all  tear 
round,  and  be  in  a  great  way  at  first,  but,  after  a 
while  things  will  settle  down  again — '  after  a  storm 
there  cometh  a  calm,'  you  know.  Lor,  Edith,  I  wish 
I  were  in  your  place,  for  the  time  being  ;  I  wouldn't 
want  better  fun." 

The  energetic  and  vigorous  spirit  of  the  little 
black-eyed  Amazon  seemed  gradually  to  communi- 
cate itself  to  her  more  timid  sister.  As  she  ceased, 
Edith  sat  erect,  pale,  but  collected. 


118 


THE   ABnUOTION. 


\!      ■ 


I':  i; 


"  You  are  right,  Ellen  !"  she  said,  slowly,  as  she 
gathered  up  lier  disordered  tresses.  "  Would  to 
Heaven  I  had  your  fearless  spirit !  but  since  I  have 
not,  I  must  nerve  my  own  to  bear  the  trial." 

"Bravo,  Edith,  my  dear!"  exclaimed  Nell,  de^ 
lighted  ly. 

**  Yes,"  continued  Edith,  like  one  thinking  aloud, 
*'  there  is  no  other  way  of  avoiding  the  detested  mar. 
riage.     Besides,  I  promised  him  I  would  !" 

"  Promised  who  ?"  said  Nell,  opening  her  eyes. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  Edith,  smiling  and 
blushing  ;  **  leave  me  now.  Good-night.  To-mor- 
row you  wiH  find  I  have  taken  your  advice." 

Nell  laughed,  and,  after  kissing  Edith,  left  the 
room. 

Edith  passed  an  almost  sleepless  nrght.  Naturally 
timid,  she  shrank  from  the  disclosure  she  felt  herself 
obliged  to  make,  knowing  well  the  violent  scene  that 
would  assuredly  follow.  But  since  there  was  no 
alternative,  she  determined  to  brave  the  worst  at 
once,  and  seek  an  interview  with  De  Lisle  the  next 
morning. 

An  opportunity  was  not  long  wanting.  Entering 
the  library  in  search  of  a  book,  after  breakfast  the 
following  day,  she  beheld  De  Lisle,  seated  at  the 
window,  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  gazing 
moodily  out.  He  started  to  his  feet  as  he  beheld 
her,  while  poor  Edith,  her  heart  throbbing  like  a 
frightened  bird,  turned  first  red  and  then  pale,  and 
then  red  again,  feeling  that  the  dreaded  moment  had 
at  length  come. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Miss  Edith/' said 
De  Lisle,  placing  a  chair  for  her. 

She  acknowledged  his  greeting  by  a  slight  inclina- 
tiio4i  of  the  head,  and  stood  with  one  hand  resting  00 


I 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


lid 


the  back  of  the  chair,  scarcely  knowing  how  to 
begin. 

"  Is  it  not  a  pity  to  spend  such  a  lovely  morning 
in  tlie  house  ?"  said  De  Lisle.  "  What  do  you  say 
to  a  ride  ?" 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Edith,  feeling  more  and  more 
embarrassed  ;  "  I  do  not  feel  inclined  for  riding  this 
morning." 

"  You  are  not  ill,  I  hope  ?"  observed  De  Lisle,  some- 
what anxiously.     "  You  are  looking  very  pale  !" 

*'  I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,"  answered  Edith, 
shrinking  still  more  from  the  task  before  her. 

"I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it,"  said  De  Lisle.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  he  added,  abruptly  :  "  I  presume  you 
have  heard  your  father  and  Nugent  ar«  coming  home 
to-morrow  ?" 

"  To-morrow  ?"  echoed  Edith.     "Sio  soon  ?" 

"  So  it  seems.  Your  mother  received  a  letter  from 
the  major  last  night." 

"  Mr.  De  Lisle,"  began  Edith,  desperately,  **  I 
have — that  is,  I  wish — to — "  Edith  paused,  while 
her  heart  throbbed  so  loudly,  she  grew  almost 
frightened. 

De  Lisle  bowed  respectfully,  and  stood  waiting 
with  calm  attention  for  what  was  to  follow. 

"  In  a  word,  Mr.  De  Lisle,"  she  resumed,  rapidly, 
thinking  it  best  to  be  brief,  "  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  fulfill  my  engagement.   Sir,  I  cannot  marry  you  !" 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little,  but  she  looked  boldly 
in  his  face,  which  was  rapidly  darkening. 

"  What/**  he  said,  slowly,  "break  your  engage- 
ment? Have  I  understood  you  aright.  Miss  Per- 
cival ?" 

"  You  have,  sir,"  she  answered,  growing  calm  and 
fearless,  now  that  the  worst  was  over. 


120 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


r 


**  And  for  what  cause,  may  I  ask  ?"  he  said,  with 
outward  calmness,  though  his  face  was  absolutely 
white  with  suppressed  passion. 

"  Because  I  do  not  love  you,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  because  you  do  love  that  handsome  rebel. 
Master  Fred  Stanley.  Is  it  not  so,  fair  lady  ?"  he 
asked,  with  a  bitter  sneer. 

The  bood  flushed  hotly  Xo  Edith's  face,  and  for  a 
moment  her  eye  fell  before  that  dark,  scathing 
glance.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
looked  almost  defiantly  up  into  his  face. 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  assert  what  you  please,  sir. 
I  will  not  contradict  you.  But  I  repeat  it  :  I  cannot 
— will  not  be  your  wife." 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,  Miss  Edith,'*  he 
answered,  with  a  mocking  smile.  "  How  do  you 
suppose  your  father  will  listen  to  such  an  independ- 
ent assertion  ?" 

"  He  will  be  very  angry,  doubtless,"  said  Edith  ; 
"  but,  in  this  case,  even  his  anger  cannot  move 
me.  I  cannot  vow  to  love  and  honor  one  for  whom 
I  cherish  no  affection,  no  ardent  emotion.  It  would 
be  doing  injustice  to  you,  to  myself,  and  to — " 

"  Fred  Stanley — why  do  you  hesitate,  my  dear 
young  lady  ?"  said  De  Lisle,  with  his  evil  sneer. 

"  Sir,  I  will  not  remain  here  to  be  insulted  !"  ex- 
claimed Edith,  indignantly,  turning  toward  the  door. 

"  Ah  !  so  you  do  consider  it  an  insult  to  have  your 
name  coupled  with  that  of  that  rebel,  Stanley  ?  I 
am  glad  to  hear  you  have  so  much  sense  left,  at 
least,'*  said  De  Lisle. 

Edith,  whose  hand  was  already  on  the  handle  of 
the  door,  turned  at  his  words,  and  confronted  him 
with  glowing  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  while  she 
exclaimed,  vehemently : 


I   1' 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


121 


"No!  Ralph  De  Lisle.  I  do  not  consider  it  an 
insult  to  be  named  with  him.  And  now  I  tell  you, 
since  you  have  driven  me  to  it,  that  I  do  love  him, 
and  him  alone.  Yes  ;  I  am  proud  to  own  it,  and  I 
never  will  marry  any  one  save  him  !" 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  De  Lisle,  with  the  same  cold 
sneer  with  which  he  had  spoken  throughout.  "  I 
have  very  serious  doubts  as  to  whether  the  young 
gentleman  alluded  to  is  not  by  this  time  in  a  better 
world.  As  for  this  little  scene,  it  is  very  well  done 
indeed  ;  meantime,  you  had  better  prepare  for  your 
wedding.     Pass  on,  fair  lady," 

He  held  the  door  open,  and  bowed  her  out  with 
most  ceremonious  politeness.  Without  deigning  to 
notice  him,  Edith  hurried  away  to  her  room,  and, 
burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears. 

And  three  hours  after,  making  some  plausible 
excuse,  De  Lisle  left  Percival  Hall,  to  join  the  major. 

The  following  day,  the  twain  arrived  (Major  Per- 
cival and  De  Lisle),  business  still  delaying  Nugent 
in  the  city. 

It  was  evident  to  Edith  that  De  Lisle  must  have 
prejudiced  her  father  against  her,  for  her  greeting 
was  returned  with  cold  sternness,  very  unlike  his 
wonted  manner.  But  even  this  coldness  aided  Edith, 
for  had  he  met  her  with  affectionate  caresses,  her 
resolution  might  have  faltered.  As  it  was,  her  pride 
and  a  sense  of  injustice  sustained  her,  and  with  the 
determination  of  dying  sooner  than  marrying  De 
Lisle,  she  awaited  the  scene  that  was  yet  to  come 
Not  long  had  she  to  wait.  The  following  evening, 
Edith,  who  had  absented  herself  from  the  supper- 
table,  was  summoned  to  the  parlor,  where,  seated,  in 


n 


=1: 

n 


11 


'I 


ri;»  1 


i 


II 

? 


fl 


122 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


State,  was  Major  Percival  and  his  lady,  De  Lisle,  and 
Nell. 

"  Be  seated,  Miss  Percival,"  said  the  major  with 
overwhelming  dignity. 

The  color  deepened  on  Edith's  cheek,  as  she 
obeyed. 

"  Hem  !"  began  the  major  ;  "  you  are  aware,  1 
presume,  that  in  a  few  weeks  you  are  to  become  the 
bride  of  De  Lisle,  here  ?" 

"  I  was  to  have  been  his  bride,  papa,**  murmured 
Edith. 

"  IVas,  Miss  Percival,  was  ?"  said  the  major  severely. 
"You  are  to  be,  you  mean  !" 

"  I  cannot;  sir !"  said  Edith,  though  her  voice 
faltered  a  little. 

"  You  cannot  ?"  repeated  Major  Percival,  with  an 
ominous  frown  gathering  on  his  brow. 

«  No,  sir." 

"  But  I  say  yes/**  exclaimed  the  major,  vehemently, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "  You  shall  be  his  wife.  I 
command  you." 

•*  Then,  sir,  it  will  be  my  painful  duty  to  disobey 
you  !'*  said  Edith  with  a  heightened  color,  as  she  also 
arose. 

"  My  dear,**  said  Mrs.  Percival,  laying  her  hand 
gently  on  her  husband's  arm,  "  do  not  be  violent. 
We  can  wait ;  give  Edith  time — do  not  be  angry  with 
her  now." 

The  words  so  softly  spoken  subdued  the  fiery  wrath 
of  the  major.  The  fearless  demeanor  of  Edith,  so 
different  from  all  he  had  ever  known  of  her,  also  had 
some  effect  upon  him.  Seating  himself,  therefore, 
in  his  chair,  he  growled  : 

'*  Time  !  the  minx  may  have  as  much  time  as  she 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


123 


likes,  if  it  will  only  bring  her  to  a  reasonable  frame 
of  mind." 

"Oh  !  thank  you,  papa,"  said  Edith  ;  "but  I  can 
never — " 

"  Major  Percival,"  interrupted  De  Lisle,  who  had 
listened  in  angry  astonishment,  "am  I  to  understand 
our  marriage  will  not  take  place  at  the  appointed 
time?" 

"  Why,  De  Lisle,  you  hear  what  that  vixen  says  !" 

"  But,  sir,  you  should  insist,"  said  De  Lisle,  rising 
angrily.    "  I  protest  against  this  decision  !" 

"  Protest  and  be  hanged  !"  said  the  major,  grow- 
ing angry  in  his  turn.  "  Am  I  to  be  ordered  by  you, 
sir  ?  Edith  Percival  shall  wait  as  long  as  she  pleases ; 
and  you  may  consider  yourself  fortunate  to  get  her 
in  the  end  !"  And  the  major,  happy  to  find  some  one 
to  vent  his  wrath  on,  turned  furiously  to  De  Lisle. 

"  Sir,  I  will  not  wait  !"exclaimed  De  Lisle,  passion 
and  disappointment  for  the  time  over-coming  pru- 
dence. "  Your  daughter  was  to  have  been  my  wife 
at  the  expiration  of  three  weeks,  and  I  now  insist  on 
it  as  my  right !" 

"  Insist,  do  you  ?"  thundered  the  major.  **  You 
impertinent  scoundrel !  if  you  say  another  word,  I'll 
cancel  the  engagement  altogether,  and  you  may  go 
whistle  for  a  wife  !"  And  he  brought  his  clenched 
fist  down  with  such  a  thump  on  the  table,  that  every 
one  jumped. 

De  Lisle  bit  his  lip,  and  was  silent.  Convinced 
by  this  time  how  unwisely  he  had  acted,  he  resolved 
to  adopt  a  different  course.  Assuming,  therefore,  a 
penitent  tone,  he  said  : 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;  my  feelings  have  carried  me 
beyond  the  bounds  of  moderation.    I  bow  to  your 


1 .1  I 


12i 


THE   ABDUCTION. 


)':  ■ 


fit 


'T   ■ 


superior  judgment  and  will  bear  my  disappointment 
as  best  I  may." 

The  major  rather  stiffly  acknowledged  his  apology 
—  while  Edith,  pleading  a  headaciie,  hurried  from 
the  room.  In  a  few  moments,  she  was  joined  by 
Nell. 

**  Well,  'Dith,  what  did  I  tell  you  ?"  exclaimed  that 
young  lady.  "  You  see  the  trial's  over,  and  you're 
in  the  land,  and  living  yet,  My  !  did  you  see  how 
mortified  De  Lisle  looked,  though  ?  It's  my  opinion 
his  penitence  was  all  a  sham.  I  never  saw  angrier 
eyes  in  any  one's  head  than  his  were  all  the  time  he 
was  speaking  so  respectfully  and  humbly.  Oh ! 
there's  Gus  in  the  garden  ;  I'm  going  down  to  tease 
him.  J3(?n  soir  T  And  Nell  bounded  from  the 
apartment. 

All  the  next  day,  De  Lisle  maintained  a  respect- 
fully reserved  manner  toward  Edith  and  the  major. 
This  evidently  produced  a  deep  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  latter,  though  Edith  plainly  perceived  it 
was  assumed.  The  following  evening,  as  Edith 
stood  on  the  piazza,  gazing  out  into  the  still  moon- 
light, De  Lisle  approached,  and,  touching  his  hat, 
said  : 

"Good  evening.  Miss  Edith,  you  are  looking 
charming  in  the  pale  moonlight.  What  do  you  say 
to  a  drive  this  lovely  night  ?  My  carriage  is  at  the 
Joor." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Edith,  coldly,  "I  prefer 
remaining  where  I  am." 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  the  major,  who  now  ap- 
peared. 

"  I  ordered  my  carriage,  sir,  thinking  Miss  Per- 
cival  might  feel  inclined  for  a  drive  this  fine  night 
She,  however,  refuses/*  said  De  Lisle. 


THE  ABDUCTION. 


125 


**  Nonsense,  Edith,"  said  the  major,  angrily,  "you 
are  growing  as  obstinate  as  a  mule.  Away  with  you, 
and  get  ready  ;  and  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under 
your  feet." 

Edith  could  no  longer  disobey.  She  accordingly 
entered  the  house,  and  soon  re-appeared  in  carriage 
costume.  De  Lisle  handed  her,  with  the  most 
respectful  gallantry,  into  the  carriage,  and  they 
dashed  oft'  behind  a  splendid  pair  of  bays. 

For  upward  of  an  hour,  they  drove  on,  almost  In 
silence,  Edith  replying  to  all  De  Lisle's  observations 
only  in  monosyllables.  Still,  he  showed  no  sign  of 
returning. 

"  Let  us  go  back,  Mr.  De  Lisle,"  said  Edith,  at 
length  ;  "  the  air  is  very  cold." 

"  Wrap  this  shawl  around  you,"  said  De  Lisle  ; 
**  I  am  anxious  to  show  you  something  a  little 
further  on." 

He  folded  the  shawl  carefully  around  her,  while 
she  submitted  in  silence  ;  and  again  they  dashed  for- 
ward more  swiftly  than  before.  Half  an  hour  passed, 
and  still  he  showed  no  signs  of  returning. 

**Mr.  De  Lisle,"  said  Edith,  impatiently,  "  I  wish 
to  go  home.     Will  it  please  you  to  return  ?" 

*'  In  one  moment,"  said  De  Lisle,  as  he  suddenly 
reined  in  the  horses,  and  gave  a  loud,  peculiar 
whistle. 

"Sir!  what  does  this  mean*"  asked  Edith,  in 
alarm. 

He  turned,  and  gazed  upon  her  for  a  moment  with 
an  evil  smile,  but  said  nothing.  An  instant  after, 
two  men  stood  holding  the  bridle-reins  of  the  horses. 

"  Ralph  De  Lisle,"  said  Edith,  in  increasing  terror, 
"  what  means  this  ?" 

It  means,  fairest  Edith,  that  Fred  Stanley,  when 


(» 


'I. 


ri 
i  ' 

1   ' 

'    t, 


126 


IN    OAPTIVITT. 


he  comes  to  woo,  will  have  to  select  another  wife 
than  Miss  Percival  !" 

"Sir,  sir  !  I  do  not  comprehend  you,"  said  Edith, 
growing  sick  and  faint  with  terror. 

"Do  you  not?  Listen  then,  Edith;  you  must 
come  with  me.  When  next  you  see  Percival  Hall,  it 
shall  be  as  the  wife  of  Ralph  De  Lisle  !" 

In  the  clear  moonlight  his  face  resembled  that  of 
a  demon.  The  truth  burst  at  once  upon  Edith 
with  stunning  force,  and  with  one  wild,  shrill  cry  of 
terror,  she  sank  back  in  her  seat,  and  the  dark  night 
of  insensibility  closed  around  her. 


CHAPTER    XIL 

IN   CAPTIVITY. 

•*  When  first,  with  all  a  lover's  pride, 
I  woo'd  and  won  thee  for  my  bride, 
I  little  thought  that  thou  wouldst  be 
Estranged  as  now  thou  art  from  me." 

When  Edith  again  opened  her  eyes,  she  found  her- 
self lying  on  a  couch,  with  some  one  bending  over 
her,  chafing  her  cold  hands  and  temples.  Her  eyes 
wandered  wildly  around  until  they  rested  upon  the 
detested  form  of  De  Lisle,  who  stood  leaning  lightly 
against  the  mantel-piece.  Pushing  away  the  hands 
that  rested  on  her  forehead,  she  raised  herself  on  her 
eibow,  and  gazed  with  a  bewildered  air  around. 

"  Leave  the  room,  Elva,"  said  De  Lisle,  carelessly, 
without  moving. 


IN    CAPTIVITY, 


127 


Edith  heard  the  door  open,  but,  before  she  could 
look  around,  it  closed  again,  and  she  was  alone  with 
De  Lisle. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  what  means  this,  sir  ?"  exclaimed 
Edith,  springing  to  her  feet,  with  an  overpowering 
but  undefined  sense  of  terror. 

"  That  you  must  favor  us  with  your  presence  in 
this  old  building  for  a  week  or  so.  Miss  Edith,"  said 
De  Lisle  carelessly. 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  I  am  a  prisoner  ?"  de- 
manded Edith,  growing  very  pale. 

"  Exactly  so,  my  dear,"  replied  the  young  man. 

*'  You  cannot — you  will  not — you  dare  not  !" 
exclaimed  Edith,  vehemently. 

"  Dare  not  !"  he  repeated,  with  a  sinister  smile. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  repeat  it,  you  would  not  venture  to 
detain  me  here  a  prisoner." 

"  We  shall  see,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"  Mr.  De  Lisle,  I  command  you  to  release  me." 

"Command  away,  then  ;  I  like  to  hear  you,"  said 
De  Lisle,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance. 

"  Sir,  if  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  you  will  restore 
me  to  my  father,"  exclaimed  Edith,  still  more  vehe- 
mently. 

"  That  I  will  do  with  pleasure,  when  you  are  my 
wife." 

"  I  will  never  be  your  wife,  sir  ;  I  would  die  first  I" 
she  said  indignantly. 

"  Indeed,  fairest  Edith,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer, 
"  perhaps  you  will  not  find  it  so  easy  to  die  as  you 
imagine.  Most  young  ladies  of  your  age  would 
infinitely  prefer  marriage  to  death." 

"  Ralph  De  Lisle,  are  you  lost  to  all  sense  of 
honor  ? — forcing  a  girl  to  marry  you  against  hef 
will!    Oh,  shame  r 


b       I! 


i  ■,! 


i;! 


128 


IN  OAPTIVITT. 


"  Honor  !"  said  De  Lisle,  bitterly  ;  '*  that  word 
sounds  well  on  your  lips,  fair  lady.  It  was,  doubt- 
less, very  honorable  in  you  to  break,  your  plighted 
faith,  and  surrender  your  heart  to  the  next 
who  asked  you  for  it.  Take  care,  pretty  Edith  : 
those  who  live  in  glass-houses  should  not  throw 
stones." 

Edith  sank  back  in  her  seat,  and,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  wept,  with  mingled  fear  and 
indignation.  De  Lisle  stood  watching  her  for  a 
moment  with  a  most  sinister  smile — then,  turning  to 
the  door,  he  said  : 

"  Farewell  for  the  present.  Miss  Percival  ;  I  shall 
send  a  girl  to  attend  to  you  by-and-by.  I  shall  have 
the  happiness  of  seeing  you  again  during  the  course 
of  the  day." 

He  closed  the  door,  and  was  gone.  Edith  heard 
the  sounds  of  bolts  drawing  without,  and  felt  she 
was  indeed  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  man  she 
detested.  Oh  !  where  was  Nugent — where  was  Fred 
then  !  She  sobbed  in  a  perfect  passion  of  grief, 
until  her  overcharged  heart  had  had  its  way,  and 
she  gradually  grew  calm. 

"  I  «////  die  sooner  than  marry  him,"  she  exclaimed, 
vehemently.  **  He  will  find  I  am  not  to  be  intimi- 
dated by  his  threats — that  I  have  spirit  enough, 
when  roused,  to  resist  injustice." 

Her  cheeks  flushed,  and  the  sparkling  light  in  her 
eyes  bespoke  her  determination.  Feeling  more  com- 
posed, she  glanced  around  the  apartment  with  some 
curiosity. 

It  was  a  long,  square  room,  with  a  very  low  ceil- 
ing, festooned  elegantly  with  cobwebs.  In  one  cor- 
ner stood  a  bed,  without  curtains,  covered  with  a 
coarse,  but  clean  quilt.    Opposite  this  stood  a  table, 


IN  OAPTIVnT. 


129 


a  wooden  chest,  and  a  chair.  This,  together  with 
the  couch  on  which  she  sat,  comprised  the  furniture 
of  the  room.  The  floor  wasuncarpeted,  and  the  one 
solitary  window  uncurtained. 

Edith  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
The  iron  grating  outside  destroyed  the  faint  hope  of 
escape  which  had  begun  to  spring  up  in  her  breast. 
The  room  was  evidently  two  or  three  stories  high, 
judging  by  its  distance  from  the  yard  below.  The 
prospect  on  which  she  gazed  was  dreary  beyond 
description.  The  dull  gray  dawn  of  morning  was 
creeping  sluggishly  over  the  hills  with  its  spectral 
feet.  A  thick,  drizzling  rain  was  falling  ;  and  the 
wind,  at  it  sighed  around  the  old  house,  sounded  in- 
expressibly dismal.  The  view  from  the  window  was 
not  very  extensive — being  bounded  by  tall  trees, 
from  which  she  judged  it  was  situated  in  the  forest. 
A  high  wall  surrounded  the  wet,  littered  yard  below; 
and,  altogether,  a  more  uncomfortable  place — both 
within  and  without — could  scarcely  have  been  found 
than  the  prison  of  Edith. 

Drawing  her  chair  close  to  the  window,  Edith  sat 
down  and  tried  to  think.  It  was  a  difficult  matter  ; 
for  her  head  throbbed  and  ached  until  her  brain  was 
in  a  perfect  chaos.  Whilst  she  sat,  she  was  startled 
to  hear  the  bolts  clumsily  withdrawn  ;  and,  raising 
her  eyes,  Edith  beheld  an  object  that  made  her  spring 
to  her  feet  in  terror. 

It  was  a  short,  stooping,  shriveled,  toothless,  blear- 
eyed  old  woman,  palsy-ctricken  and  frightfully  ugly. 
In  her  long,  claw-like  hands  she  held  a  tea-tray  con- 
taining Edith's  breakfast.  This,  after  closing  the 
door,  she  deposited  on  the  table,  and  then  turned 
slowly  round  until  she  fixed  her  little  sharp  red  eyes 
on  the  shrinking  Edith.    A  cap  with  an  enormous 


130 


IN   OAPTIVITT. 


.1 


■i| 


i,   i  1 


I 


frill,  that  kept  continually  flapping  aDout  her  face, 
considerably  heightened  her  charms  ;  and  this, 
together  with  a  woolen  gown,  reaching  barely  to  her 
ankles,  and  so  remarkably  narrow  that  she  evidently 
found  some  difficulty  in  walking  in  it,  completed  hei 
costume. 

"  Here's  your  breakwis,  ma'am,"  said  this  singular 
old  crone,  in  a  voice  uncommonly  like  the  shrill 
screech  of  a  parrot  ;  "  there's  coffee  and  toast — too 
good,  a  great  sight,  for  such  a  chalk-faced  whipper- 
snapper  as  you  are.  Ugh  !  whatever  he  wanted  a 
bringing  of  you  here  I  can't  tell." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  Edith,  beginning  to  recover 
irom  her  fright. 

"  What  ?" 

"Who — are — you  ?"  said  Edith,  speaking  as  loudly 
as  possible,  and  fully  convinced  the  old  woman  must 
be  deaf, 

"  Me  !  Oh  !  um  ! — yes  !  Why,  I'm  Miss  Crow, 
housekeeper  and  superintendent  for  Master  Ralph. 
Yes  I  um  ! — take  your  breakwis,  ma'am,  will  yer  ?" 

"  I  don't  feel  hungry,"  said  Edith  ;  "  you  may 
take  it  away  again." 

"  Hungry  !"  screeched  Miss  Crow,  who  had  the 
faculty  of  only  catching  one  word  at  a  time  ;  "  well, 
if  yer  hungry,  why  don't  you  eat — eh  ?" 

"  I  am — not  hungry,"  said  Edith,  exciting  herself 
to  speak  loud,  until  she  turned  quit^  red  in  the  face. 

"Oh,  you're  not?"  cried  the  amiable  old  lady. 
"Why  couldn't  you  say  so  at  once,  and  not  keep  me 
a  waiting,  a  wastin'  of  my  precious  time,  and  spilin* 
of  good  vittils.  Pugh  !  I's  disgusted.  Wait  till 
Miss  Crow  trots  herself  off  her  legs  a  bringing  of 
your  breakwis  ag'in — that's  all !" 

And,  with  a  grimace  that  made  her  look  positively 


cli 


IN  OAPTIVITT. 


131 


hideous,    Miss    Crow    gatiiered    up    the    untasted 
"breakwis,"  and  liobbled  out  of  the  room. 

Left  to  herself,  Edith  resumed  her  seat  by  the 
window,  inwardly  wondering  if  this  pleasing  attend- 
ant was  the  young  girl  promised  her  by  De  Lisle 
She  felt  she  was  surrounded  by  his  creatures,  whose 
hearts  were  steeled  against  her.  Then,  by  a  natural 
transition,  her  thoughts  wandered  home  to  her 
friends.  She  felt  sure  they  were  even  then  looking 
for  her.  But  would  she  erer  be  discovered  in  this 
isolated  old  house  ?  Or,  even  if  discovered,  would 
not  De  Lisle  force  her  into  a  marriage  with  him 
beforehand  ? 

Absorbed  in  such  thoughts,  the  forenoon  wore 
away  ;  and,  as  noon  approached,  she  was  once  more 
honored  by  a  visit  from  Miss  Crow,  who  came  with 
the  tray  again. 

**  Here's  your  dinner,  ma'am,"  said  the  little  old 
woman,  with  her  customary  screech.  "  I  hopes  as 
how  you'll  eat  it,  and  not  go  bringing  of  me  upstairs 
for  nothin'  again,  which  is  what  I  ain't  no  ways  used 
to.  Pity  if  such  a  big  lazy  thing  as  you  are  can't 
wait  on  herself,  and  not  go  bringing  ageable  old 
women  like  I  is  up  two  or  three  flights  of  stairs,  with 
the  rheumatiz  in  the  small  of  my  back."  And  here 
the  screech  subsided  into  a  groan. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  a  trouble  to  you,"  said  Edith, 
seating  herself  at  the  table. 

"  Trouble  !"  cried  Miss  Crow,  spitefully  ;  "  so  you 
think  it's  no  trouble,  do  you  ?  But  I'll  let  you  know 
it  is.  And  Master  Ralph  may  wait  on  you  hisself ; 
though  I  s'pose  you'd  sooner  have  a  fine  young 
fellow  like  that  to  'tend  to  you  than  an  old  woman 
like  Miss  Crow." 

Edith,  not  being  inclined  to  shout  a  reply,  ate  her 


132 


IN  OAPTIVITY. 


H  .    5 


1, 1 


J  ■■< 


dinner  in  silence,  while  Miss  Crow  stood  watching 
her  with  her  red,  inflamed  eyes,  strangely  reminding 
Edith  of  the  witches  in  Macbeth. 

"  Mr.  Ralph  told  me  he  was  coming  to  see  you  in 
the  course  of  half  an  hour,"  said  the  old  woman, 
after  a  pause  ;  "though  what  he  can  want  with  such 
a  baby-faced  thing  as  you  are,  I  don't  know." 

Here  Miss  Crow  paused,  as  though  she  expected  to 
be  told  ;  but  Edith  made  no  reply. 

"VVhafll  I  tell  him?"  inquired  the  old  lady, 
sharply. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Edith. 

"  What  ?" 

"  You  may  tell  him  I  don't  want  to  see  him,"  said 
Edith,  raising  her  voice. 

'*  Want  to  see  him  ! — hum  !  hum  ! — want  to  see 
him  !  Yes,  I'll  tell  him  so,  replied  Miss  Crow, 
rather  complacently. 

•'  i  don't  want  to  see  him — do  you  hear  ?  I  don't 
want  to  see  him  !"  said  Edith,  still  more  loudly. 

Sundry  unearthly  sounds,  which  the  old  woman 
intended  for  a  laugh,  followed  this  reply  ;  and,  still 
chuckling  to  herself,  she  gathered  up  the  things  and 
left  the  room. 

Scarcely  had  she  departed,  when  De  Lisle  entered. 
Advancing  into  the  room,  he  threw  himself  indo- 
lently on  the  couch,  and,  turning  to  Edith,  he 
remarked,  carelessly  : 

"  I'm  afraid  old  Nan  Crow  is  not  the  most  pleas- 
ant attendant  in  the  world.  You  won't  be  troubled 
with  her  long,  however  ;  to-morrow,  Elva  Snowe  will 
take  her  place." 

Edith  made  no  reply,  but  sat  listening,  in  haughty 
silence. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  fairest  Edith,  will  make 


IN  CAPTIVITY. 


133 


me  the  liappiest  of  men.  I  have  made  every  arrange- 
ment for  our  marriage,  whicli  will  take  place  on  that 
day.  My  only  regret  is,  that  it  must  be  delayed  so 
long." 

"  Sir,  must  I  tell  you  again,  I  will  never  be  your 
bride  ?"  said  Edith — a  sudden  crimson  staining  her 
fair  face,  and  then  retreating,  leaving  her  paler  than 
before. 

"  No  !"  said  De  Lisle,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  Never 
is  a  long  time,  my  dear  Edith." 

"  You  cannot  force  me  to  marry  you,  even  though 
I  am  your  prisoner,"  said  Edith. 

"  Can  I  not  ?  There  are  ways  of  compelling  you 
that  you  dream  not  of,  perhaps,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  Sir,  your  conduct  has  been  most  base  and  un- 
manly— most  evil  and  treacherous.  If  you  have  one 
spark  of  honor  remaining  in  your  heart,  you  will 
release  me  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  rising,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  flashing  eyes. 

"  Never,  Edith  !"  he  said,  fiercely,  "  never  shall  you 
cross  this  threshold  unless  as  my  wife.  \''ou  talk 
about  honor,  forsooth  !  Did  I  not  love  you,  as  I 
never  cared  for  mortal  before  on  this  side  of  Heaven  ? 
were  you  not  my  betrothed  bride  ?  was  not  our  wed- 
ding-day fixed  ? — when,  lo  !  a  dashing  stranger  comes 
along,  and  I  am  coolly  told  to  stand  aside,  for  I  am 
loved  no  longer  ? — told  to  stand  aside  and  wait — wait 
until  my  rival  shall  have  wormed  himself  into  the 
good  graces  of  the  family,  and  become  your  accepted 
lover  !  One  consolation  is,  that  long  before  this  he 
must  have  been  hung  as  a  traitor." 

Edith  essayed  to  speak,  but  her  voice  failed  ;  and, 
sinking  into  a  seat,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  wept  passionately. 

"  After  that  interview  with  your  father,"  went  on 


[    ;  \,  }! 


,  i  ?5 


^.W 


imB^MFn '  ■'   III 


u 


M  -f 


'  I  ? 


134 


IN   CAPTIVITY. 


De  Lisle,  with  increasing  bitterness,  "  I  urged  him 
repeatedly  to  revoke  his  decision,  and  insist  on  the 
marriage  ;  but  in  vain.  And,  at  length,  he  com- 
manded me  to  drop  the  subject  altogether,  and  told 
me  I  should  wait  until  it  pleased  him  to  appoint  the 
time.  You  see,  fairest  Edith,  I  have  done  so."  And 
he  laughed  sarcastically.  "  Your  worthy  father  may 
search  until  he  is  tired  ;  but  I  doubt  if  he  will  dis- 
cover you  here.  Once  my  wife,  and  he  will  not  dare 
to  proclaim  the  deeds  of  his  son-in-law  to  the  world. 
Your  fortune  will  be  mine.  I  will  not  attempt  to  dis- 
guise from  you,  Miss  Percival,  that  this  forms  no 
unimportant  item  in  my  calculations.  Your  fortune 
once  mine,  you  may  return  to  your  father's  house  as 
soon  as  you  please." 

"Release  me  now,"  said  Edith, looking  up  ;  "  and, 
since  it  is  only  my  money  you  want,  I  will  persuade 
my  father  to  give  it  all  to  you." 

"  Nay,  Miss  Edith,  I  must  decline  your  kind  offer. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  your  good  father  would  pre- 
fer handing  me  over  to  the  civil  authorities  rather 
than  to  his  banker.  And  a  still  more  weighty  con- 
sideration remains  :  you  love  the  man  I  hate — yes, 
hate  !"  And  his  face  grew  livid  with  passion.  "  The 
best  revenge  I  can  take  is,  by  marrying  you — whether 
with  or  without  your  consent,  matters  not.  Thus  I 
will  raise  an  insuperable  barrier  between  you,  and 
gratify  my  revenge." 

Edith  shuddered  involuntarily.  He  stood  watching 
her,  with  his  habitual  sinister  smile. 

"I  thought  that  would  touch  you,"  he  said,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Remember,  the  day  after  to-morrow  is  your 
wedding  morning.  The  girl  I  spoke  of  will  assist 
you  to  dress  for  your  bridal.  Au  revot'r."  And  turn- 
ing  on  his  heel,  De  Lisle  quitted  the  room. 


J 


i 


ELYA    8N0WE. 


135 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


ELVA   SNOWE. 


14 


**  I  see  a  little  merry  maiden,  * 

With  laughing  eye  and  sunny  hair— 
"With  foot  as  free  as  mountain  fairy. 
And  heart  and  spirit  light  as  air." 

The  gray  daylight  was  fading  out  of  the  dull  sky. 
The  wind  sounded  inexpressibly  dreary  as  it  moaned 
through  the  dark,  fragrant  pines.  Far  in  the  west, 
a  red,  fiery  streak  glowed  among  the  dark,  leaden 
clouds,  like  a  burning  line  dividing  heaven  and 
earth.  Dreary  and  sad  was  the  scene  without  ;  but 
more  dreary  and  sad  were  the  thoughts  of  Edith,  as 
she  sat  watching  the  approach  of  night.  The  gloom 
around  and  above  was  congenial  to  her  feelings  ; 
and,  lost  in  thought,  she  heeded  not  the  waning 
hours,  until  all  within  and  without  was  wrapped  in 
a  mantle  of  pitchy  darkness. 

The  entrance  of  Nan  Crow,  with  her  supper  and  a 
light,  roused  her  at  last.  The  old  woman  seemed 
unusually  cross  and  out  of  humor  ;  and,  after  essay- 
ing in  vain  to  make  her  answer  her  questions,  Edith 
relapsed  into  silence.  With  a  sharp  command  not 
to  "  sit  moping  there  like  a  ghost,  a  burning  of  can- 
dles, but  to  go  to  bed,"  she  went  out,  slamming  the 
door  violently  after  her. 

Her  command  was  unheeded  ;  for,  seated  at  the 
window — her  burning  forehead  pressed  against  the 
cold  panes,  Edith  remained  till  morning.  It  was  a 
strange  scene — that  long,  shadowy  room,  so  poorly 


136 


ELVA    SNOWI. 


)•  ■' 


;:i  ii 


.  "il  i: 


:i    -ii 


1   ■'  ■ 


furnished,  and  that  young  girl  seated  at  the  window, 
her  face  whiter  than  the  robe  she  wore.  The  candle 
guttered  and  burned  dimly,  with  a  long  black  wick, 
capped  by  a  fiery  crest,  until  it  went  out  altogether, 
leaving  the  room  enveloped  in  the  deepest  gloom. 

So  passed  the  second  night  of  Edith's  captivity. 
Morning  found  her  pale,  spiritless,  and  utterly  des- 
pairing. She  knew  well  De  Lisle  would  keep  his 
word.  And  what  could  she — a  weak,  powerless  girl 
— do  to  prevent  him  ?  Naturally  timid  and  ac- 
customed to  magnify  dangers,  she  could  see  nothing 
but  despair,  look  which  way  she  would.  To  rebel 
would  be  useless,  and  without  ?in  effort,  she  yielded 
to  utter  dejection.  At  times,  she  could  be  brave 
enough,  when  laboring  under  excitement  of  any  kind : 
or  when,  after  listening  to  her  vehement  sister,  she 
would  imbibe  part  of  her  spirit ;  but  these  rare  in- 
tervals were  always  followed  by  a  listlessness  and 
timidity  greater  than  before. 

The  sun  arose  in  unclouded  splendor.  Every  trifle 
of  the  former  day's  dullness  had  passed  away,  and 
Nature  once  more  looked  bright  and  beautiful.  The 
chirp  of  the  birds  in  the  pine  woods  reached  her  ear, 
but,  for  the  first  time,  she  listened  with  pleasure. 
All  was  sad  and  desolate  within  her  heart,  and  the 
joyous  splendor  of  that  summer  sunrise  was  to  her 
feelings  like  "  vinegar  upon  nitre." 

Suddenly,  the  sound  of  a  gay  voice  carolling 
reached  her  ear.  It  was  such  an  unusual  sound, 
that  she  looked  out,  altogether  startled  from  her 
dreamy  lethargy  of  sorrow.  What  was  her  surprise 
to  behold,  emerging  from  the  woods,  a  young  girl 
on  horseback.  From  the  distance  at  which  she  sat 
she  could  not  very  easily  discern  hv"  features,  but 
she  saw  her  sit  on  her  horse  like  a  practiced  rider. 


ELYA    SNOWB. 


137 


Her  long  hair  hung  in  braids  over  her  shoulders, 
tied  with  streamers  of  bright  ribbon.  In  one  hand 
she  held  a  white  sunbonnet,  swinging  it  carelessly  by 
the  strings,  as  she  shouted,  rather  than  sang,  some 
wild  mountain  chorus,  or  talked  at  intervals  to  her 
horse.  Edith  could  plainly  hea."  her,  as  her  words 
came  borne  on  the  air: 

**  Come,  Timon,  my  boy,"  she  said,  patting  her 
horse  on  the  neck,  "  hurry  up,  or  old  Nan  Crow 
will  give  you  and  me  fits.  Too  bad,  isn't  it,  you  and 
me  have  to  go  and  live  in  that  dismal  old  barn  of  a 
house  ?  but  orders  must  be  obeyed,  you  know,  Timon. 
Deary  me  !  as  that  queer  old  maid  used  to  say  '  won- 
ders never  will  cease,  I  believe  !*  Who  in  the  world 
would  ever  think  of  taking  a  bride  to  that  horrid 
old  hole  ?  And  so  De  Lisle  is  really  going  to  be 
married  !  Well,  I  never  !  father  says  she  isn't  dying 
about  him  either — which  I  don't  wonder  at,  I'm 
sure,  for  I  can't  bear  him.  I'd  like  to  see  her,  and 
know  what  my  future  mistress  looks  like.  Come, 
gee  up,  Timon,  my  son ;  I'm  anxious  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  old  Nan  Crow's  beautiful  face,  and  hear 
her  musical,  screeching  voice.  Who  knows  but  we'll 
soon  see  my  lady  herself,  and  I'm  dying  to  have  a 
peep  at  her,  so  get  along,  my  boy,  Elva's  in  a 
hurry." 

And  urging  her  horse  into  a  quick  canter,  the 
girl  rode  off,  singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?"  thought  Edith—"  Elva,  Elva  ! 
the  name  is  familiar.  Yes,  now  I  remember,  De 
Lisle  spoke  of  sending  me  a  girl  of  that  name  ;  Elva 
Snowe,  I  think,  he  called  her.  She  spoke  of  coming 
here,  too,  so  il  must  be  the  same.  I  hope  it  is,  she 
will  at  least  prove  a  more  pleasant  companion  than 
that  cross  old  woman." 


Pi!'' 


m 


I 


9': 


\i 


^■,l.i 


m 


f 


m 

u  '■ 


i 

;     i 


1      •! 


138 


ELVA    SNOWE. 


For  nearly  an  hour,  Edith  sat  expecting  to  see 
her  enter,  but  in  vain.  At  length,  just  as  she  was 
about  to  despair  of  seeing  her,  the  outer  bolts  were 
withdrawn,  and  the  door  was  unceremoniously 
opened,  and  the  young  girl  stood  before  her. 

Edith  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  other,  and  scrutinized 
her  from  head  to  foot.  The  new-comer  was  small, 
below  middle  height,  round  and  plump  in  figure, 
and  looking  to  the  best  advantage  in  the  crimson 
silk  basque  which  she  wore.  A  short,  black  skirt, 
which  conveniently  displayed  a  pretty  little  foot  and 
ankle,  completed  her  costume — which,  though  look- 
ing rather  odd  to  the  eyes  of  Edith,  had  the  merit  of 
being  very  becoming.  Her  face  was  decidedly  pretty, 
though  browned  a  little  by  exposure  to  sun  and 
wind.  A  low,  smooth  forehead,  blooming  cheeks 
and  lips,  merry  grey  eyes,  a  piquant  little  nose, 
that  turned  up  with  saucy  independence,  and  little, 
white  teeth,  made  up  the  /<?«/  ensemble  of  the  little 
lady. 

**  Good-morning,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  evidently 
rather  favorably  impressed  with  the  outward  appear- 
ance of  Edith.  "I  have  brought  you  your  break- 
fast." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  said  Edith.  "  I  was  afraid  I  was 
about  to  be  favored  with  another  visit  from  that 
deaf  old  lady  who  has  hitherto  attended  me." 

"Yes,  old  Nan  Crow,"  said  the  girl,  laughing. 
"  Isn't  she  a  horrid  old  case  ?  I  have  the  greatest 
fun  witli  her  sometimes.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a 
voice  ?  like  a  penny  whistle,  for  all  the  world." 
Then  changing  her  tone  to  a  sharp  screech,  painful 
to  listen  to,  she  began  : 

*'  I'm  Miss  Crow,  housekeeper  and  superintendent 


BLVA    SNOWE. 


139 


<or  Mister  Ralph.  Yes,  um  !  I  laid  awake  all  lass 
night  with  the  rumatiz  in  the  small  of  my  back  !*' 

"That's  she  exactly,"  said  Edith,  with  something 
like  a  smile  passing  over  her  pale  face  "  though  it's 
quite  abominable  of  you  to  take  her  off  in  that  man- 
ner. 

"  She  never  stops  scolding  me  from  I  come  here 
until  I  leave,"  said  the  other,  '*  and,  indeed,  I  rather 
deserve  it  sometimes,  and  it  does  one  good  to  get  a 
blowing-up  once  in  a  while.  My  !  if  she  can't  scold 
it's  a  wonder — it's  really  a  comfort  to  hear  her,  for 
every  word  comes  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  The 
only  pity  is,  that  I'm  not  here  often  to  listen  to  her." 

*'  Do  you  not  live  here  ?"  inquired  Edith. 

"Live  here!  Bless  you,  no!  I  wouldn't  live  in 
this  lonesome  old  place  for  any  amount  of  money,  at 
least,  any  amount  I'd  be  likely  to  get  for  doing  so. 
No,  indeed  !  I  live  in  the  village,  eight  or  nine  miles 
from  here,  and  splendid  times  we  have,  I  can  tell 
you — at  least  we  had,  until  this  detestable  war  com- 
menced, and  all  the  young  men  were  provoking 
enough  to  go  off  and  be  killed.  Heigho  !  Isn't 
everything  still  here  ?  One  can't  hear  a  thing  but 
the  swaying  pines  and  the  birds.  It's  a  splendid 
day  too.  I'd  love  to  have  a  good  gallop  over  the 
hills  this  morning." 

"  Pray,  don't  let  me  keep  you  here,"  said  Edith. 
"  I  wouldn't  deprive  you  of  the  pleasure  on  any 
account.  I  will  not  need  any  attendance  during  the 
day,  Miss  Snowe — Isn't  that  your  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  Elvena  Snowe,  but  everybody  calls  me  Elva, 
for  short ;  you  needn't  mind  calling  me  miss,  I  ain't 
used  to  it,  and  Elva  sounds  better." 

"  Then,  Elva,  do  not  let  me  deprive  you  of  that 
coveted  ride.     Go,  by  all  means." 


i 


140 


BLVA    SNOWE. 


'  !i.i 


,  i 


ill 


••1  ■■  t! 


*'  You're  very  good,  but  I  guess  I  won't  mind  it 
to-day.  I'll  stay  with  you,  if  you  have  no  objection. 
De  Lisle  will  be  here  by-and-by,  and,  until  he  comes, 
I  will  remain." 

"  How  long  are  you  to  remain  here  ?'*  inquired 
Edith." 

*'  Dear  knows,"  said  Elva,  suppressing  a  yawn, 
"  not  long  I  hope,  for  I'd  blue-mold,  rust,  or  some- 
thing else  equally  dreadful,  if  I  had  to  stay  in  this 
dull  old  tomb.  Why  everything's  as  still  here  as  if 
we  were  in  our  graves." 

"  It  is  still,"  said  Edith,  "  what  is  the  cause  >  Does 
no  one  live  here  but  Mrs.  Crow  ?" 

"  Oh  !  dear,  yes  !"  said  Elva,  "but  this  is  a  wing 
of  the  building  off  by  itself.  It's  a  sort  of  double 
house,  with  two  front  doors,  and  connected  together 
by  a  lono;  hall.  In  the  other  end,  De  Lisle  and  some 
of  his  men  stay  when  they  are  here,  and  you  have 
this  part  all  to  yourself.  Old  Nan  is  their  only 
servant,  except  sometimes  when  De  Lisle  brings 
some  of  his  friends  here,  big-bugs  you  know,  Eng- 
lish officers,  then  I  have  to  come  here  and  help  her." 

"  Then  this  place  is  not  hidden  in  the  woods  ?" 
said  Edith,  "  and  is  visited  by  others  beside  De  Lisle 
and  his  men." 

"  La  !  yes.  Generals,  and  colonels,  and  captains, 
not  to  speak  of  lieutenants  and  aid-de-camps,  come 
here  in  droves,  sometimes,  and  spend  whole  nights 
in  a  carouse.  They  generally  stay  in  the  other  wing 
of  the  building ;  this  part  hasn't  been  much  used  for 
yea^s." 

"And  so  forms  a  safer  prison  for  me,"  sighed 
Edith. 

**  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Elva.  **  But  I  guess 
you  won't  be  here  long.     I  heard  De  Lisle  telling  my 


ELVA    SNOWE. 


141 


father,  that  after  he  was  married,  he  intended  get- 
ting your  money,  and  sending  you  home." 

"Your  father!"  echoed  Edith,  ''who  is  he?" 

"  Oh  !  he's  only  De  Lisle's  lieutenant,  Paul  Snowe's 
his  name,  but  he  has  a  good  deal  of  influence 
over  the  men,  and  over  De  Lisle  himself,  for  that 
matcer.  Only  for  him,  you  may  be  sure,  I  wouldn't 
be  here  ;  for  I  hate  De  Lisle  as  I  do  sin,  and  wouldn't 
care  a  straw  for  his  orders.  But  I'rn  a  little  afraid 
of  father,  and  have  to  mind  what  he  says,  you  know  ; 
though  I'd  much  rather  follow  my  own  sweet  will, 
and  stay  in  the  village,  and  have  fun,  than  come 
here,  and  wait  on  De  Lisle  and  those  dashing  officers 
he  brings  here." 

"  And  your  mother,  where  is  she  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  Dead,"  said  Elva,  sadly,  "  she  died  when  I  was 
a  child.  I  have  only  a  faint  recollection  of  her  as  a 
pale,  stately  woman,  who  used  to  come  to  my  bed- 
side and  kiss  me  every  night.  So  you  see  I  grew  up 
the  best  way  I  could,  without  any  one  to  look  after 
me  or  make  me  a  good  girl  ;  and  so  I've  got  to  be  a 
wild,  sun-burnt,  good-for-nothing  romp.  Oh,  dear  ! 
if  mother  had  lived,  I'd  have  been  a  different  crea- 
ture from  what  I  am.  She  loved  me,  I  know,  but 
father  never  seems  to  care  for  me,  but  rather  to  dis- 
like me,  than  otherwise.  I'm  like  the  miller  of  the 
Dee  ;  *  I  care  for  nobody,  and  nobody  cares  for  me  ;* 
so  I  don't  mind  a  pin  what  I  do  or  say,  since  there's 
no  one  to  be  grieved  by  it.  It  makes  me  feel  sad  and 
lonely,  too,  sometimes,"  and  she  sighed  involuntarily. 

**  Oh,  Elva  !  I  feel  that  I  can  love  you,  if  you  will 
let  me  !"  said  Edith,  gently  taking  her  hand. 

**  Thank  you,  dear  Miss  Percival,"  said  Elva, 
looking  up  with  glistening  eyes,  "  I  \oveyou  already. 
But  hark,  there's  a  step  on  the  stairs.     That's  De 


142 


AN   UNLOOKED-FOR   INTERRUPTION. 


Lisle,  I  know,  for  he  always  takes  half  the  staircase 
at  a  bounce.  Good-by  now,  I'll  be  back  after  a 
while."  And  Elva  quitted  the  room  as  De  Lisle 
entered. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


AN   UNLOOKED-FOR    INTERRUPTION. 


Hi  ' 


"  Know,  then,  that  I  have  supported  my  pretensions  to 
your  hand   in  the  way  that  best  suited  my  cnaracter."— 

IVANHOE. 


hi  V 


"  Good  morning,  Fairest  Edith,"  was  De  Lisle's 
salutation,  as  he  entered.  "  You  are  looking  very 
pale.     I  fear  you  did  not  sleep  well  last  night." 

'*  Not  very  well,"  said  Edith  coldly,  *'  a  captive 
seldom  sleeps  very  soundly  du»-'.ng  the  first  night  in 
prison." 

"  You  have  no  one  to  blame  for  being  in  prison 
but  yourself,  Edith.  Had  you  been  less  obstinate 
and  self-willed,  you  might  now  have  been  at  home 
with  your  father." 

"  Sir,  these  reproaches  sit  not  well  upon  your  lips,' 
said  Edith,  bitterly,  "  I  am  neither  obstinate  nor  self- 
willed,  as  you  well  know,  but  I  could  not  consent  to 
marry  one  whom  I  no  longer  loved." 

^^  No  longer  loved,''  repeated  De  Lisle,  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  her,  *'  then  you  did  love  me  once  ?" 

"  I  may  have  done  so,"  replied  Edith,  her  face 
suddenly  crimsoning,  "  but  you  forfeited  my  good 
opinion  ;  and  where  I  cannot  esteem,  I  cannot  love." 

"  I  pray  you,  fair  saint,  how  did  I  forfeit  your 
esteem."  said  De  Lisle,  with  a  sneer. 


AN   UNLOOKED-FOR  INTEBRUPTION. 


143 


"  By  your  base,  unmanly  conduct,  sir,  unworthy  a 
man  or  a  soldier,"  replied  Edith,  her  gentle  spirit 
roused  to  anger  by  his  taunting  words.  "  I  had 
heard  of  the  merciless  cruelty  of  you  and  your  men, 
the  relentless  fury  with  which  you  destroyed  houses 
and  villages,  and  shed  the  blood  of  unoffending 
fellow-creatures,  whose  only  crime  was  in  defending 
their  homes.  And  could  I,  could  any  woman,  think 
of  you  otherwise  than  with  fear  and  loathing  after 
such  acts,  more  fitted  for  savages  than  for  civilized 
men  ?" 

"  You  seem  particularly  well  informed  about  what 
I  have  done,"  said  De  Lisle,  sarcastically.  "  Pray, 
fair  lady,  how  much  of  this  raw-head-and-bloody- 
bone  story  have  you  heard  from  Master  Fred 
Stanley  ?" 

"  Mr.  De  Lisle,"  said  Edith,  her  fair  face  flushing, 
"  I  must  beg  of  you  to  cease  referring  to  hirri.  If 
you  do  not,  I  must  decline  holding  any  conversation 
with  you." 

"  Sooner  than  incur  such  a  penalty,  pretty  one, 
I  would  do  anything,"  said  De  Lisle  ;  "  but  before 
this  time  to-morro\v  you  will  be  my  wife — and  after 
that  I  trust  you  will  knowyour  duty  to  your  husband 
too  well  to  refuse  talking  to  him." 

"  Sir,  I  will  not,  I  will  never  be  your  wife,"  said 
Edith  passionately. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  very  weli  for  you  to  say  so,  Miss  Per- 
cival,  but  how  are  you  to  help  yourself  ?  You  are 
here  my  prisoner,  completely  in  my  power,  sur- 
rounded by  my  people,  the  clergyman  who  is  to 
marry  us  will  be  most  discreetly  silent  as  to  every- 
thing he  will  see  or  hear — is  prepared  for  hysterics, 
tears  and   rebellion,  and   will  pay  no  attention   to 


144 


AN  UNLOOKED-FOE  INTEERUPTIOW. 


i 


•h! 


them.  How  then,  beautiful  Edith,  are  you  to  help 
yourself  ?" 

"  God  liveth  !"  said  Edith,  rising,  and  speaking  in 
a  tone  of  intense  solemnity,  "and  I  appeal  to  Him 
from  you — unworthy  the  name  of  man." 

"  The  days  of  miracles  are  past,  Edith,"  said  De 
Lisle,  with  his  customary  mocking  sneer.  "  He  will 
hardly  send  an  angel  down  to  prevent  the  marriage 
of  a  silly  girl.  The  time  of  miracles  has  long  since 
past,  fair  one." 

**  But  not  of  Divine  interposition,"  said  Edith,  "  my 
confidence  in  Him  can  never  be  shaken.  I  will  trust 
in  Him,  and  you  may  do  your  worst.  Heaven  will 
never  permit  the  happiness  of  my  life  to  be  blighted 
by  you." 

"  Bah  !  bah  !  bah  !  are  you  silly  enough  to  believe 
such  cant,  Edith  ?"  said  De  Lisle,  scornfully.  "  I 
thought  you  had  more  sense.  But  time  will  tell  :  ere 
four-and-twenty  hours  you  will  be  my  wife,  in  spite 
of  yourself,  and  then  where  will  be  your  boasted 
confidence  in  Heaven  ?" 

"  I  have  faith  to  believe  that  time  will  never  come," 
said  Edflth.  *' But  should  it,  my  confidence  in  Heaven 
will  be  as  strong  as  ever." 

"  You  believe  that  time  will  never  come,"  said  De 
Lisle,  "and  may  I  ask,  what  do  you  expect  will  hap- 
pen to  prevent  it  ?" 

"  Oh !  fifty  things  might  happen,"  replied  the 
voice  of  Elva,  who  entered  abruptly,  in  time  to  hear 
his  remark,  and  took  it  upon  herself  to  answer  ;  "  the 
Yankees  might  come  and  set  fire  to  the  house,  and 
carry  her  off — or  the  minister  might  forget  to  come 
— or  she  might  be  very  sick — or  you  might  be  acci- 
dently  shot,  which   would  set  everything  right  at 


AN   UNLOOKED-FOR   INTERRUPTION. 


145 


once.  For  my  part,  if  /  was  Miss  Percival,  Td  live 
in  hopes." 

•'  Would  you,  indeed  ?"  said  De  Lisle,  angrily. 
*•  Well,  I  prefer  living  in  certainty.  And  pray,  Miss 
Snowe,  what  brought  >'^«  here  ?" 

"My  feet,  of  course,"  answered  Elva. 

"  Don't  be  impertinent,  minion ;  answer  my 
question." 

"  I  did  answer  it,  Mr.  De  Lisle,  sir,"  replied  Elva, 

*'  What  did  you  come  here  for  ?"  exclaimed  De 
Lisle,  in  a  rage — "  what  do  you  want  ?" 

"  Oh  !  /  want  nothing,"  replied  Elva,  with  pro- 
voking indifference ;  *'  only  father's  arriv^  and  sent 
me  here  with  a  message  for  you." 

*•  What  is  it,  what  did  he  say  ?"  demanded  De 
Lisle,  hurriedly. 

"He  didn't  say  much  ;  the  message  consisted  of 
just  five  words :  *  Tell  him  it's  all  right*  that's  all. 
It's  short  and  sweet,  you  see,  like  a  weaver's  kiss." 

The  look  of  satisfaction  that  followed  her  words 
rather  surpris<^d  Elva,  who,  after  watching  him  a 
moment,  turned  to  Edith — saying,  in  a  very  audible 
whisper  : 

**  Something  dreadful  has  happened  to  somebody, 
as  sure  as  shooting  !  Nothing  else  ever  puts  him  in 
such  good-humor.  See  how  absurdly  happy  he 
looks." 

"  Clear  out !"  said  De  Lisle,  who  was  too  well 
accustomed  to  the  pert  Elva  to  get  into  a  passion  at 
her  impertinent  words.  "  Tell  Paul  I'll  see  him 
by-and-by  ;  and  don't  you  come  here  again  until 
you're  sent  for." 

"  Nice  way  that  to  speak  to  a  young  lady,"  said 
Elva.    "  I  guess  Miss  Percival  would  rather  have  me 


146 


AN   UNLOOKED-FOR   INTERRUPTION. 


I     , 


than  you  with  her,  after  all."     And  turning  a  pirou- 
ette on  one  toe,  the  elf  disappeared. 

"Well,  Edith,"  said  De  Lisle,  turning  to  her,  *'our 
marriage  will  not  have  to  be  postponed  till  to-morrow 
as  I  feared  it  would.  I  sent  Paul  to  see  if  the 
clergyman  would  come  to-day  and  the  answer  is 
favorable.  Therefore,  you  will  prepare  to  become 
my  bride  this  afternoon." 

The  blood  rushed  for  a  moment  hotly  to  Edith's 
face,  and  then  retreated  to  her  heart,  leaving  her 
faint  and  sick.  Siie  had  hitherto  looked  upon  it  as 
some  fearful  dream — now  it  arose  before  her,  a 
terrible  reality.  She  strove  to  speak  ;  but  the  words 
died  away  on  her  pale  lips.  Involuntarily,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  her  heart  to  still  its  loud  throbbings. 

"  Of  course,"  went  on  De  Lisle,  calmly,  **  this 
news  must  be  equally  pleasant  to  both  of  us.  You, 
no  doubt,  feel  anxious  to  return  home — whicli  I 
regret  you  cannot  do  until  after  our  marriage,  for 
reasons  before  given  ;  and  I  know  confinement  in 
this  lonely  place  must  necessarily  be  very  irksome 
to  you.  I  trust,  therefore,  Miss  Percival,  you  will  see 
the  wisdom  of  submitting  yourself,  and  make  no 
resistance  to  the  ceremony  taking  place — a  resistance 
which  you  must  know  would  be  idle  and  useless, 
since  there  is  no  one  here  who  has  either  the  will  or 
the  power  to  prevent  it." 

"  Ralph  De  Lisle,  you  cannot,  you  will  not,  be  so 
base  !"  said  Edith,  vehemently,  rising.  "  I  conjure 
you,  by  all  you  hold  sacred  in  heaven  and  dear  on 
earth,  to  desist  !  Why  should  you  render  miserable 
for  life  a  defenseless  girl  who  never  injured  you  ? 
It  is  not  because  you  really  love  me  that  you  wish 
me  to  be  your  wife,  but  for  my  father's  money  ; 
and  that  you  shall  have,  I  solemnly  promise  you. 


Il>:^    i 


AN  UNLOOKED-FOR   INTERRUPTION. 


147 


You  will — you  will  release  me  !  I  cannot  believe 
you  are  so  deliberately,  basely  wicked  !" 

She  stood  before  him  with  clasped  hands,  flushed 
clieeks,  and  glistening  eyes — her  long,  golden  hair 
floating  like  a  glory  around  her.  Never  had  she 
looked  so  beautiful  ;  and  gazing  upon  her,  De  Lisle 
grew  more  determined  than  ever  in  his  resolution. 

"  Nay,  Edith,  you  wrong  me,"  he  said.  *'  Your 
money,  I  confess,  is  an  inducement  ;  but  were  you  a 
beggar  my  affection  for  you  is  so  strong  I  would  still 
make  you  my  wife  !  I  love  you  better  than  you  are 
willing  to  give  me  credit  for." 

"You  do  not!"  she  exclaimed,  impetuously. 
"  When  did  man  wish  to  render  miserable  the  woman 
he  loved  ?  You  know  I  dislike  you — detest  you  ! — 
and  with  you  can  never  be  happy  !" 

"  You  will  learn  to  overcome  this  dislike  in  time, 
fair  Edith,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  At  present,  it  is  quite 
natural  you  should  feel  indignant,  and  fancy  you  dis- 
like me  ;  but  I  assure  you,  it  will  weat  away.  Then, 
too,  your  silly  penchant  for  a  person  who  shall  be 
nameless,  renders  you  less  reconciled  to  this  union 
than  you  would  otherwise  be.  Time,  however,  works 
wonders ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  be  in  quite 
a  different  state  of  mind  in  a  few  months.  I  shall 
not  trouble  you  again  to-day  until  the  hour  appointed 
for  our  marriage  ;  but  Elva  will  attend  you  in  the 
meantime.  Aurevoir."  And,  risjng,  De  Lisle  quitted 
the  apartment. 

Edith  sat  like  one  stunned  by  some  sudden  blow. 
Her  arms  dropped  powerless  in  her  lap  ;  her  eyes 
were  wide  open,  with  a  look  of  fixed,  stony  despair. 
Every  trace  of  color  had  faded  from  her  face,  as  she 
sat  like  one  suddenly  turned  to  stone.  From  the 
doom  before  her  she  felt  there  could  be  no  escape. 


Ill 
w  ■ 


i      ! 


148 


AN  UNLOOEED-FOB  INTBUBUPTION. 


De  Lisle  was  all-powerful,  and  she  was  utterly  help- 
less. One  by  one  the  faces  and  forms  of  loved  ones 
passed  before  her ;  father,  mother,  brotlker,  sister, 
and — dearer  than  all — Fred.  Where  wese  they  all 
now  ?  Was  there  no  one  in  all  the  world  to  help 
her?  Sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  seemed  fading  from 
ner  sky,  and  the  future  loomed  before  her  so  dark 
and  full  of  Horror,  that  she  drew  back  appalled. 
Only  a  few  brief  hours,  and  she  would  be  the  wife 
of  De  Lisle — a  face  far  worse  than  death  !  Hope 
there  was  none  ;  and  involuntarily  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  groaned  in  the  depth  of  her 
anguish. 

She  heard  the  door  open  and  some  one  enter ;  but 
she  did  not  look  up.  Her  hands  were  gently  removed 
from  her  face  ;  and  raising  her  head,  she  met  the 
pitying  eyes  of  Elva. 

"Dear  Miss  Percival,"  she  said  gently,  "don't 
grieve  so  !  Bad  as  Ralph  De  Lisle  is,  I  don't  think 
he'll  force  you  to  marry  him  against  your  will." 

"  He  will — he  will  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  wringing 
her  hands.     "  Oh,  Elva,  what  shdl  I  do  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Elva.  "  I  wish  I 
could  help  you  ;  but  it  is  quite  impossible.  Really, 
though,  I  never  thought  he'd  be  so  mean.  It's  dread- 
ful to  think  about ;  but  I  don't  see  how  it  can  be 
helped." 

The  look  of  sublime  perplexity  on  Elva's  face 
bordered  closely  on  the  ridiculous  ;  and,  at  any  other 
time,  would  have  provoked  a  smile  from  Edith.  But 
she  only  sat  with  her  hands  pressed  to  her  throbbing 
head,  striving  in  vain  to  think,  with  her  brain  in  such 
a  whirl. 

"When    is  this  precious  wedding  to  take  place  ?' 
inquired  Elva,  after  a  pause. 


i*f 


AN  UNLOOKED-FOR  INTERRUPTION. 


149 


V* 


•*This  afternoon,"  answered  Edith,  hurriedly. 
"  Your  father  went  for  the  clergyman." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  little  dried-up 
anatomy,  with  a  face  like  a  withered  pippin 
and  a  nose  like  a  boiled  beet,  who  came  home  with 
father,  is  a  clergyman  ?"  said  Elva,  opening  her  eyes 
in  amazement. 

•*  I  really  do  not  know,"  said  Edith,  faintly. 

"  Well,  if  it  is,  I'll  give  up  !"  said  Elva,  drawing  a 
long  breath.  "  Why,  I  saw  him  drinking  gin  and 
water  with  father,  and  singing  'Old  King  Cole  was 
a  merry  old  soul,'  as  jolly  as  the  worst  cut-throat  in 
De  Lisle's  gang  !" 

"  Elva  Snowe  !"  called  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss 
CvoWy  at  this  moment. 

*'  Oh,  there's  Miss  Crow  !"  said  Elva,  jumping  up. 
"1  must  go  and  see  what  the  blessed  old  seraph 
wants,  or  she'll  drive  me  wild  with  her  screeches.** 

And  Elvr.  vanished. 

The  hours  dragged  slowly  on,  and  Edith  waited  in 
vain  for  her  re-appearance.  The  afternoon  waned  ; 
but  still,  to  her  surprise,  she  came  not.  Rousing 
herself  from  the  lethargy  into  which  she  was  falling, 
she  arose  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  striving 
to  collect  her  thoughts.  She  turned  to  the  window 
and  gazed  out.  The  sun  was  setting  in  cloudless 
splendor.  The  heavens  were  flush  with  gold  and 
azure,  and  purple,  and  crimson  ;  and  amid  this  ra- 
diant setting,  the  sun  shone  like  a  jewel  of  fire.  A 
fading  sunbeam,  as  it  passed,  lingered  lovingly  for  a 
moment  amid  lier  golden  hair.  With  clasped  hands 
and  parted  lips  Edith  stood  entranced — forgetting 
'everything  save  the  sublime  beauty  of  that  glorious 
sunset. 

The  sudden  opening  of  the  door  startled  her.   She 


-«^*?"PSwnMrM*B»" 


150 


AN  UNLOOKED-FOR  INTEERUPTION. 


looked  up,  and  her  heart  sank  like  lead  in  her  bosom, 
as  she  belield  De  Lisle. 

"Come,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand — "the  hour  has 
arrived,  and  the  clergyman  is  waiting." 

She  grew  faint  and  dizzy  at  his  words,  and  was 
forced  to  grasp  his  arm  for  support. 

"  Let  me  assist  you,"  he  said,  kindly,  as  he  placed 
his  arm  around  her  waist  and  drew  her  with  him. 

She  drew  back  involuntarily — her  lips  parted,  but 
no  sound  came  forth,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  in  a  voice- 
less appeal  to  his  face. 

"  Nonsense,  Edith  !"  he  said,  almost  angrily — 
"  you  must  come.  Have  I  not  told  you  resistance  is 
useless." 

He  drew  her  forcibly  with  him,  as  he  spoke. 
Quitting  the  room  they  crossed  a  long  hall,  descended 
a  flight  of  winding  stairs,  which  led  them  to  another 
hall  similar  to  that  above.  Opening  one  of  the  many 
doors  that  flanked  it  on  either  side,  De  Lisle  led  his 
almost  fainting  companion  into  a  room,  which  she 
saw  indistinctly  as  in  a  dream,  was  filled  with  people. 

The  clergyman,  book  in  hand,  stood  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  room.  At  a  little  distance  stood  the  man 
Paul — the  same  individual  seen  by  Fred  in  the 
music-room  of  Percival  Hall.  Near  him  stood  Elva, 
pity  and  indignation  strucrgling  for  the  mastery  on 
her  pretty  face.  Old  Nan  Crow,  grinning,  chuckling, 
and  evidently  in  a  sublime  state  of  beatitude,  was 
perched  on  a  chair  in  the  corner.  Various  other 
individuals — members  of  De  Lisle's  tory  band — were 
scattered  round  the  room,  watching  poor  Edith  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  admiration. 

Supporting  the  slight  form  of  his  companioa,  Do 
Lisle  led  her  to  where  stood  the  clergyman. 


THE    PEISONEES. 


151 


"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  De  Lisle,  briefly.  *•  We  are 
ready." 

He  opened  his  book  ;  and  already  had  the  cere- 
mony commenced,  when  a  sudden  noise  broke  upon 
their  ears,  and  startled  every  one  to  their  feet 
in  consternation. 

Shouts,  cries,  yells,  and  the  report  of  fire-arms, 
mingled  together  in  wild  confusion,  resounded 
without. 

Ere  any  one  could  move,  a  man,  wounded  and 
bleeding,  rushed  in,  and  fell  lifeless  at  the  feet  of  De 
Lisle. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE     PRISONERS. 


"  A  careless  set  they  were,  in  whose  bold  hands 
Swords  were  like  toys." 

For  a  few  moments  all  stood  spell-bound,  gazing 
in  silence  and  consternation  in  each  other's  faces — 
while  the  noise  and  uproar  without  seemed  still 
increasing.  Loud  oaths,  the  clash  of  swords,  and 
the  report  of  fire-arms,  united  in  fierce  discord.  So 
completely  unexpected  was  the  surprise,  that  all 
stood  looking  at  each  other  and  at  their  fallen 
comrade  in  speechless  wonder.  But  De  Lisle's 
presence  of  mind  never  forsook  him — the  true  state 
of  the  case  seemed  to  flash  upon  him  instantly — and 
turning  to  Elva,  he  said,  hurriedly: 

"  Conduct    Miss    Percival    to    her    chamber ;   and 
whatever    happens,   see    that  shi   does  not  escape." 


•   I 


152 


THE    PRIS0NEB8. 


Then,  turning  to  the  others,  he  called  :  "  There  is 
danger  without  !     Follow  me  !" 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  disappeared  through  the  open 
door. 

The  men  rushed  pell-mell  after  him,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  room  was  deserted,  save  by  the 
/clergyman,  Edith,  Elva,  and  Nan  Crow.  Edith  stood 
listening  breathlessly,  while  her  heart  once  more 
began  to  throb  with  hope.  De  Lisle's  enemies  were 
her  friends,  and  she  might  yet  be  free  once  more. 

Nan  Crow  was  the  first  to  speak.  Turning  to 
Elva,  who  stood  listening  eagerly  to  the  sound  of  the 
conflict  without,  she  said,  sharply  : 

"  What  are  you  a-standing  there  for,  like  a  fool  ? 
Go  'long  with  you,  and  take  her  off  to  her  room,  as 
Mr.  Ralph  told  you." 

"  Yes.  Come,  Miss  Percival,"  said  Elva  ;  "  there 
may  be  danger  in  remaining  here.  Let  me  assist 
you — you  seem  weak  and  faint." 

She  passed  her  arm  round  her  waist,  and  led  her 
from  the  room.  Wrought  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
suspense  and  anxiety,  Edith  tottered,  and  was 
obliged  to  lean  on  her  companion  for  support. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Percival,  who  do  you  suppose  they  can 
be  ?'*  inquired  Elva,  when  they  reached  the  apart- 
ment of  Edith. 

*•  My  friends,  I  feel  certain,"  said  Edith,  pressing 
her  hands  on  her  heart  to  still  its  tumultuous  throb- 
bings — **  who,  having  missed  me,  have  by  some  means 
discovered  that  I  am  here.  Great  Heaven,  Elva  I 
listen  to  these  terrible  sounds  without !"  said  Edith, 
with  a  shudder. 

**  The  conflict  seems  to  grow  more  desperate  each 
moment,"  said  Elva,  listening  breathlessly. 

The   noise   and   confused    din   of   the   fight   was 


THE    PBISONEBS. 


15S 


indeed  momentarily  growing  more  violent.  Almost 
wild  with  excitement,  Edith  paced  up  and  down  the 
room,  striving  to  catch  some  sound  by  which  she 
could  judge  which  party  was  the  victor.  But  she 
listened  in  vain — nothing  met  her  ear  but  a  discord- 
ant din,  in  which  the  cries  of  each  were  mingled  in 
indiscriminate  confusion. 

For  upwards  of  an  hour  the  strife  continued,  and 
then  all  suddenly  grew  still.  They  could  hear,  for 
a  time,  the  sound  of  many  feet  passing  and  repassing 
through  the  different  rooms  and  passages  ;  but  grad- 
ually this  died  away,  and  was  followed  by  a  silence 
so  deep  and  ominous  that  the  young  girls  looked  on 
each  other,  pale  with  undefined  fear. 

"  Oh,  this  suspense — this  suspense  !  it  is  killing 
me  !"  said  Edith,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  De  Lisle  must  have  conquered,"  exclaimed  Elva, 
"  or  your  friends  would  be  here  before  now." 

"  The  will  of  Heaven  be  done  !"  came  from  the 
pale  lips  of  Edith — while  the  hope  that  until  this 
moment  had  animated  her  heart,  died  out  in  deep- 
est despair. 

"What  can  this  sudden  silence  mean  ?"  said  Elva. 
"  It  is  not  their  customary  way  of  conducting  them- 
selves after  a  victory.  I  cannot  stay  here — I  must 
go  and  see." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  !"  pleaded  Edith,  starting  to 
her  feet. 

"  No,  no — you  must  stay  here  !"  exclaimed  Elva, 
hurriedly.  "  To  go  with  me  would  be  dangerous. 
I  will  return  immediately.  Do  try  and  restrain  your 
impatience  for  a  short  time,  and  you  will  hear  all." 

She  left  the  room  as  she  spoke,  and  Edith  was 
alone  in  the  profound  silence  and  rapidly  deepening 


^  <i 


154 


THB    PKISONBRS. 


I  : 


gloom.  It  was  a  calm,  starless  night.  Without,  in 
the  gray  dusk,  the  tall  swaying  pine-trees  looked 
like  dim,  dark  spectres.  The  shrill  cry  of  the  whip- 
powill  and  katy-did  came  at  intervals  to  her  ears  ; 
and  once  the  hoarse  scream  of  the  raven  broke  the 
stillness,  sending  a  thrill  of  superstitious  terror  to 
the  heart  of  Edith.  Each  moment  seemed  an  age, 
until  the  return  of  Elva.  Unable  to  sit  still,  in  her 
burning  impatience,  Edith  paced  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  room — her  excitement  lending  to  her  feeble 
frame  an  unnatural  strength.  There  was  a  wild,  burn- 
ing light  in  her  eye,  and  a  hot,  feverish  flush  on  her 
face,  that  betokened  the  tumult  within.  Her  head 
ached  and  throbbed  with  an  intensity  of  pain  ;  but 
she  hardly  noticed  it  in  the  fierce  agony  of  impa- 
tience, she  endured. 

She  counted  the  hours  as  they  passed  on,  midnight 
came,  but  Elva  was  absent  still.  She  seemed  almost 
like  a  maniac  in  her  maddening  impatience,  as  she 
trod  wildly  up  and  down  the  long  room.  "  She  will 
not  come  to-night  !"  was  ringing  in  her  ears,  as  she 
clenched  her  small  hands  so  fiercely  together  that 
the  nails  sank  into  the  quivering  flesh  until  they 
bled. 

Her  quick  ear  at  last  caught  the  sound  of  a  rapid, 
excited  footstep  without.  She  sprang  forward,  breath- 
ing heavily  in  her  unnatural  impatience,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  Elva  bearing  a  lamp  in  her  hand, 
entered. 

Placing  the  lamp  on  the  table,  Elva  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  with  a  muttered  "  Oh,  dear  !"  flung  her- 
self into  a  seat.  Her  long  hair  was  streaming  wildly 
over  her  shoulders  ;  her  face  was  very  pale  ;  her  dress 
disordered  and  stained  with  blood. 


THE    PBIS0NER8. 


166 


"  Elva  !  Elva  !  speak  !  what  has  happened  ?"  in- 
quired Edith,  in  a  voice  husky  with  deep  emotion. 

"  Oh,  just  what  I  told  you  !  De  Lisle  and  his  vil- 
lainous-looking set  have  conquered!"  exclaimed  Elva, 
impatiently. 

For  a  time,  nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  labored 
breathing  of  Edit'i.  She  strove  to  ask  another  ques- 
tion ;  but  though  her  lips  moved,  they  could  not 
utter  the  words.  Elva  sat  with  her  lips  compressed 
and  her  eyes  fixed  moodily  on  the  floor.  Looking 
up,  at  length,  and  seeing  the  expression  on  Edith's 
face,  she  said,  in  reply  to  it  : 

"  Yes,  they  were  your  friends — I  heard  De  Lisle 
say  so.  There  were  only  seven  of  them  altogether  ; 
but  they  fought  desperately,  and,  I  believe,  killed 
half  of  De  Lisle's  band.  They  were  conquered,  how- 
ever, and  killed — with  the  exception  of  those  who 
appeared  superior  to  the  rest,  and  whom  De  Lisle 
said  he  would  reserve  for  a  more  terrible  fate.  One 
comfort  is,"  added  Elva,  flinging  back  her  hair 
almost  fiercely.  "  Old  Nick  will  pay  him  with  in- 
terest for  all  this,  some  of  these  days  !" 

Edith  did  not  exclaim  or  cry.  Her  face  was  only 
a  shade  whiter,  her  eyes  dilated  with  a  look  of  un- 
speakable horror,  and  her  voice,  when  she  spoke, 
sounded  unnaturally  deep  and  hoarse. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  were  the  names  of  those 
three  ?"  she  asked. 

Elva  looked  up  in  alarm  at  the  strange  sound  of 
her  voice. 

"  One,  the  youngest  of  the  three,  I  heard  called 
Gus,  I  think,  and  the  other  looked  so  much  like  you 
that  I  think  he  must  be  your  brother.  But  the  third 
— he  was  splendid  ;  he  looked  like  a  prince — so  tall, 
and   dark,  and  handsome.     He   was  wounded,  too, 


156 


THE     PRISONERS. 


^\.^ 


I.(   i 


but  he  walked  in,  looking  as  proud  and  scornful  on 
De  Lisle  as  though  he  were  a  king  and  De  Lisle  his 
slave.  I  i.dvei  saw  such  a  look  of  intense  fiendish 
hale  and  triumph  on  any  face  as  De  Lisle's  wore 
when  he  looked  on  him.  They  are  now  confined  in 
separate  rooms  at  the  other  side  of  the  house,  though 
I  fancy  they  will  soon  leave  it  for  a  narrower  and 
darker  prison.  ^  'hj'iMiss  Percival  !  I  have  had  to  look 
on  such  fearful  sights  to-night !  I  have  a  little 
knowledge  of  surgery,  and  I  was  obliged  to  bind  up 
those  fearful  wounds.  Ugh  !"  and  Elva  shuddered 
convulsively. 

There  was  no  reply  from  Edith,  who  stood  like 
one  suddenly  turned  to  stone.  Her  brother  and 
cousin  were  in  the  power  of  the  merciless  De  Lisle 
— and  that  oiAer.  There  was  but  one  man  in  the 
world  to  whom  Elva's  description  could  apply — one 
dearer  than  life — whom  she  never  expected  to  see 
again.  And  he — would  De  Lisle  let  him  live  to  see 
the  sun  again  } 

"  De  Lisle  is  going  -away  somewhere  to-inorrow," 
said  Elva,  looking  up,  after  a  pause.  "  He  received 
a  letter,  a  few  hours  ago,  which  will  take  him  off — 
thank  goodness  !  I  suppose  he  will  see  you  before 
he  leaves,  and  tell  you  when  he  will  return." 

"  Elva  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  suddenly,  "  if  De  Lisle 
leaves  here,  why  can  we  not  ma'te  our  escape  during 
his  absence  ?    You  can  aid  us,  can  you  not  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know,"  said  Elva,  thoughtfully.  "I 
might  aid  you,  it  is  true  ;  but  asfather  is  commander 
here  until  De  Lisle's  return,  he  would  be  answerable 
for  it.  Besides,  you  will  al'  be  very  carefully- 
guarded  J  and  I  fear,  were  any  attempt  at  escape 
discovered,  it  would  be  worse  for  us.  De  Lisle 
might    marry    you    immediately,    in    spite    of    ali 


THB    PRIS0NBB8. 


157 


fij 


obstacles  ;  and  as  for  the  other — well,  I  wouldn't 
give  much  for  their  chance  of  life  now,  but  any  such 
attempt  would  be  their  death-warrant  !'* 

"Then  escape  is  impossible,  and  there  is  no  hope 
but  in  the  grave  !"  said  Edith,  sadly. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  say  it  is  impossible,"  said  Elva.  "  In- 
deed, the  more  I  think  of  it  the  less  difficult  it  st  :ms. 
Let's  see" — and  she  leaned  her  head  thoughtfully  on 
her  hand — **  De  Lisle  will  probably  be  absent  a  week 
or  so.  Before  the  end  of  that  time,  I  may  find  some 
opportunity  of  throwing  the  men  off  their  guard, 
and  setting  you  free.  I  have  no  doubt  I  could 
easily  effect  your  escape  ;  but  it  may  be  more  diffi- 
cult to  liberate  your  friends.  However,  if  I  cannot, 
you  can  inform  your  friends  where  they  are,  and  let 
them  come  here  and  free  them  by  force  of  arms." 

**  But,  Elva,  the  moment  De  Lisle  would  discover 
my  escape,  do  you  not  think  he  would  wreak  his 
vengeance  on  those  remaining  in  his  power.  You, 
too,  dear  Elva — what  would  he  do  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  as  for  me,  /  am  not  afraid  of  him — only  I 
don't  like  to  get  father  into  trouble  ;  but  as  there  is 
no  alternative,  he'll  have  to  run  the  risk,  and  I'll  set 
you  free  if  I  can.  But  your  friends — yes,  it  would 
be  very  dangerous  for  them  to  be  here  after  your 
flight  is  discovered.  I  must  think.  I  have  no  doubt 
I  can  hit  on  some  plan  to  get  the  whole  of  you  out 
of  his  power.  And  if  I  do,  won't  it  be  as  good  as  a 
play  to  see  De  Lisle  ?  Oh  !  won't  he  rage  though, 
and  blow  us  all  sky  high  to  think  he  has  been  out- 
witted by  a  girl.     La  !  I  think  I  see  him." 

And  Elva,  changing  in  a  moment  from  seriousness 
to  gayety,  laughed  outright  at  the  vision  that  rose 
before  her  mind's  eye. 

"  Do  you  think  you  see  him,  minion  ?"  suddenly 


158 


TIS'A    PRISONERS. 


I 


1       ! 


-;  , 


■I 


exclaimed  a  low,  fierce  voice,  that  made  both  spring 
to  their  feet  in  terror.  The  door  was  pushed  open, 
and  De  Lisle,  pale  with  rage,  stood  before  them. 

"  Oh,  well  !  you  heard  us,  did  you  ?  I  never  had 
a  high  opinion  of  you,  and  I'm  not  surprised  to  find 
you  playing  the  eavesdropper,"  exclaimed  Elva, 
defiantly. 

**  By  all  the  fiends  in  flames,  girl,  you  shall  repent 
this  !" 

"  Shall  I,  indeed  !  T/tat  for  you,  Mr.  De  Lisle  !" 
said  the  audacious  Elva,  snapping  her  fingers  in  his 
very  face. 

"  Leave  the  room,  you  impudent — " 

"  Impertinent,  outrageous,  abandoned  young 
woman — ching  a  ring,  a  ring,  chaw  !"  sang  the  elf, 
making  a  whirl. 

"  You  shall  never  remain  another  night  in  this 
house — " 

"  Delighted  to  hear  it,"  again  interrupted  Elva, 
with  a  profound  courtesy. 

"  Silence  !  Who,  then,  will  help  this  fair  lady  or 
her  lover  to  escape  ?"  said  De  Lisle,  with  a  look 
of  triumphant  malice  gleaming  in  his  eyes. 

"  Heaven  helps  those  who  help  themselves,"  said 
Elva. 

"  Well,  I  fancy  Heaven  will  not  trouble  itself 
about  this  affair.  And  now,  Miss,  the  sooner  you 
leave  this  room  and  house  the  better,"  said  De  Lisle. 

"  Surely,  Mr.  De  Lisle,  you  will  allow  Elva  to 
remain  with  me,"  said  Edith,  speaking  now  for  the 
first  time. 

"  No,  madame,  I  will  not,"  said  De  Lisle,  sternly, 
"  after  listening  to  that  ingenious  plot.  I  shall  take 
care  that  every  means  of  escape  is  cut  off.  Leave 
her  with  you,  forsooth  !     Do  you  think  me  a  fool  ?" 


THE    FBIS0MEB8. 


159 


"  Think  r  repeated  Elva  ;  "not  she,  indeed  :  she 
knows  you  to  be  one." 

"  Will  you  leave  the  room,  or  shall  I  turn  you 
out  ?"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  angrily. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  Elva,  coolly.  "I'll 
go  myself,  and  be  thankful  to  get  out  of  this  dismal 
old  tomb.  Good-by,  Miss  Percival ;  keep  up  your 
spirits.  Old  Nick'll  twist  De  Lisle's  neck  for  this 
by-and-by — a  blessing  for  which  I  intend  to  pray 
night  and  morning.  Don't  get  into  a  rage,  my  dear 
sir,  as  I  see  you  are  going  to  ;  it  spoils  your  beauty, 
of  v/hich  you  have  none  to  spare."  And,  casting 
upon  him  ;i  look  of  withering  contempt,  Elva  left  the 
room  auu  ran  down  stairs. 

For  a  few  moments  after  her  departure,  De  Lisle 
walked  up  and  down,  as  if  to  cool  the  storm  of  pas- 
sion into  which  the  taunting  words  of  Elva  had 
thrown  him.  Edith  sat  pale  and  motionless  in  her 
seat.  Pausing  at  last  before  her,  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  bitter  sarcasm  : 

"  Well,  Miss  Percival,  I  see  you  can  plot  better 
than  I  ever  gave  you  credit  for.  How  unfortunate  I 
chanced  to  spoil  your  pretty  little  scheme  !  After 
all,  you  see  Providence  seems  to  favor  me  more  than 
you.  Do  you  not  suppose  it  was  *  divine  interposi- 
tion '  that  so  providentially  sent  me  here  in  time  to 
discover  your  plans  ?" 

With  the  determination  of  not  answering  him, 
Edith  sat  listening  in  silence. 

"  You  do  not  answer,"  he  went  on,  in  the  same 
ironical  tone,  after  waiting  a  moment.  "  It  is  just  as 
well  ;  t  ilence  gives  assent.  I  know  you  will  regret  to 
hear  that  business  of  importance  calls  me  away  for  a 
few  days,  thereby  delaying  our  marriage  ;  but  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  I  will  have  the  happiness  of  claim- 


160 


THE    PRISONERS. 


!    •  ! 


B.     i 


ing  you  as  my  bride.  I  scarcely  regret  the  hasty 
interruption  we  met  with  a  few  hours  ago,  as  it  will 
permit  me  to  invite  a  few  friends  of  yours  to  assist 
at  the  ceremony.  Mr.  Frederick  Stanley,  who  will 
shortly  follow  his  friends  to  a  better  world,  will  be 
present  to  witness  our  nuptials,  fairest  Edith,  and 
take  his  last  farewell  of  my  bride.  He  will,  doubt- 
less, feel  happy  during  his  last  moments,  when  he 
knows  the  lady  he  professes  to  love  is  the  happy 
wife  of  another." 

He  paused,  and  glanced  with  a  look  of  malignant 
triumph  at  Edith,  who  sat  quivering  like  an  aspen  in 
her  cliair. 

**  Yes,  fairest  Edith,"  he  went  on,  "  my  hour  of 
triumph  has  come.  Ere  five  suns  rise  and  set,  he 
for  whom  you  would  willingly  die  will  hang  a  dis- 
colored corpse  between  heaven  and  earth,  and  you 
will  be  my  wife.  No  power  on  earth  can  save  you  ; 
if  an  angel  from  heaven  were  to  descend  and  plead 
for  you  both,  I  would  refuse." 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  De  Lisle  saw  a  face  so 
full  of  horror,  with  such  a  look  of  utter  anguish  and 
despair,  that  he  started  back  appalled.  She  did  not 
see  him,  her  eyes  were  gazing  steadily  forward, 
fixed,  glazed,  and  rigid.  She  only  saw  the  vision 
his  words  had  conjured  up — herself  the  wife  of  the 
living  demon  beside  her,  and  he  whom  she  loved 
dying  in  agony  the  death  of  a  malefactor.  So  rigid, 
so  unnatural,  so  full  of  speechless  horror  was  her 
look,  that,  alarmed  for  the  effect  of  his  words,  De 
Lisle  sprang  to  her  side,  exclaiming  : 

*'  Edith  !  Edith  !  good  Heavens  !  do  not  look  so 
wildly.     Edith  !  look  up — speak  to  me  !" 

The  hand  he  held   was  cold  as  ice.    Her  head 


THE    PRTSONEIW. 


1«1 


dropped  on  lier  breast  ;  her  eyes  closed,  and  she 
fainted  entirely  away. 

Terrified  beyond  measure,  De  Lisle  raised  her  in 
Iiis  arms,  and  laid  the  apparently  lifeless  form  on 
the  bed,  and  sprang  down  stairs  at  a  bound  in  search 
of  Elva.  He  found  that  young  lady  in  a  violent 
altercation  with  Nan  Crow — who,  in  spite  of  all 
Elva's  vehement  threats  and  protestations,  positively 
refused  to  let  her  out  until  morning. 

"Go  up  stairs  !  go  ! — Miss  Percival  has  fainted  !" 
exclaimed  De  Lisle,  hurriedly,  catching  Elva's  arms 
in  his  haste  to  push  her  along. 

Wrenching  her  arm  violently  from  his  grasp,  and 
casting  upon  him  a  glance  of  concentrated  ccritempt 
and  hatred,  Elva  passed  him,  and  flew,  rather  than 
ran,  up  stairs  to  Edith's  room. 

She  still  lay  lifeless  upon  the  bed.  Elva  opened 
her  dress,  and  began  chafing  her  hands  and  temples. 
Long  she  labored  in  vain — no  sign  of  life  was  there, 
and  something  almost  akin  to  a  feeling  of  pleasure 
entered  the  heart  of  Elva,  as  the  conviction  that 
Edith  had  escaped  the  power  of  De  Lisle  forced 
itself  upon  her.  But  life  was  not  extinct — a  few  hard- 
drawn,  laboring  breaths — a  sudden  fluttering  at  her 
heart,  and  the  long  lashes  were  lifted,  and  the  cloud- 
less blue  eyes  sought  the  bright  face  of  Elva. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Miss  Percival,  I  thought  you 
would  never  look  on  any  one  again  !"  exclaimed 
Elva,  as  she  soothingly  pushed  back  the  bright  hair 
off  Edith's  face. 

*'  You  here,  Elva  ?"  exclaimed  Edith,  vacantly, 
"I  thought — I  thought — where  is  hef'  she  said,  with 
a  sudden  look  of  terror. 

*'  Down  stairs  ;  the  horrid  wretch !"  exclaimed 
Elva,  passionately 


11 


■! 


162 


THE    PBIS0XEB8. 


r  m 


*'  I  thought  he  had  sent  you  away  ?**  said  Edith. 

**  So  he  did,  and  I  am  going,  too  ;  but  when  yoif 
fainted,  he  sent  me  bere  to  attend  to  you.  I  am  sorry 
to  leave  you,  Miss  Percival,  but  you  see  I  must  go.* 

"  Oh,  it  don't  matter  J"  said  Edith  wearily  ;  "  it  is 
all  the  same  to  me." 

Elva  looked  hurt — so  much  so  that  Edith  noticed 
it,  and,  laying  her  hand  on  hers,  she  said  : 

"  Dear  Elva,  don't  be  offended.  I  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  your  feelings,  but  for  the  few  days  I  have  to 
remain,  it  matters  little  who  attends  me." 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?"  asked  Elva  in  surprise. 

*'  Yes  ;  I  hope  so." 

"  With  De  Lisle  ?" 

"  No." 

*'  Why,  are  you  not  going  to  marry  him  ?* 

*'  No. ' 

**JVo?"  repeated  Elva,  beginning  to  think  her  mind 
wandered  ;  "  how  will  you  avoid  it  ?" 

"  Elva,  I  shall  die  !" 

"You  will  not  commit  suicide?'*  said  Elva,  shrink- 
ing  back  in  horror. 

"There  will  be  no  necessity,  Elva  ;  I  shall  die  T 

"  Dear  lady,  I  trust  not  Heaven  is  merciful,  and 
there  may  be  happy  days  in  store  for  you  yet.  Be- 
fore morning  dawns,  night  is  ever  darkest.  Do  not 
give  way  to  despair,  but  trust  in  Heaven." 

"  You  can  go  now,"  said  the  voice  of  De  Lisle^  as 
he  stood  in  the  doorway  ;  "  your  horse  awaits  you  at 
the  door." 

He  paused,  and  drew  back  to  allow  her  to  pass. 

Pressing  a  kiss  on  Edith*s  brow,  she  arose,  and 
whispering  in  her  ear  the  one  word  :  ^^Ho^eTshe 
left  the  room. 

As  she  passed  De  Lisle,  she  cast  upon  him  a  look 


JOB    SMITH. 


163 


of  such  dark,  withering  scorn  that  he  absolutely 
quailed  before  her.  Passing  down  the  stairs,  and 
through  thf  numerous  en^.pty  rooms,  she  left  the 
house,  sprang  upon  the  back  of  Timon,  and  in  a  few 
moments  was  lost  to  sight  amid  the  trees. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

JOE     SMITH. 

"  Dost  deem  that  aught  can  hide  in  beg^r  rags 
A  heart  so  bold  as  mine  ? 
And  dream'st  thou  aught  of  common  danger  now 
Can  scare  me  from  my  purpose  ?" 

— Barry  Cornwall. 


To  explain  how  the  friends  of  Edith  discovered 
her  prison,  it  is  necessary  to  retrace  our  steps  a 
little. 

For  an  hour  or  two  after  her  departure  with  De 
Lisle,  Major  Percival  walked  thoughtfully  up  and 
down  the  broad  piazza,  debating  within  himself 
whether  it  were  better  to  wait  or  compel  Edith  to 
fulfill  her  engagement.  The  words  of  Fred  Stanley 
had  thrown  a  new  light  on  the  subject,  and  he  felt 
convinced  that  her  affection  for  him  was  the  cause  of 
her  refusal.  To  marry  or  not  to  marry,  therefore, 
was  tlie  question  ;  and  in  a  state  of  unusual  indecis- 
ion the  major  debated  the  case //-^  and  con. 

While  thus  engaged,  Nell  came  running  up  the 
stairs,  and  stood  beside  him  : 

"  Papa»  Where's  Edith  ?" 


164 


JOE    SMITH. 


1*   : 


!1 


"  Out  riding  with  De  Lisle." 

"With  De  Lisle?"  and  Nell's  eyes  opened  to  their 
widest  extent  with  amazement. 

"  Eh  ?  what's  that  ?"  said  the  major  turning  round 
sharply. 

"Nothing,  sir," said  Nelly  demurely,  "  but  I  really 
thought  Ralph  De  Lisle  was  the  last  person  Edith 
would  go  anywhere  with." 

"And  why  not.  Miss  Impertinence  ?  Whom  should 
she  go  with,  if  not  with  her  future  husband  ?" 

"  Why,  papa,  I  thought  Edith  refused  to  fulfill  her 
engagement  ?" 

"  We'll  make  her  fulfill  it  !*'  was  the  short,  sharp, 
and  decisive  reply. 

"  Hem-m-m  !  perhaps  so  !"  said  Nell,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  smile,  "  but  if  I  were  in  her  shoes,  I  know 
I  would  not  have  gone  with  De  Lisle  to-night." 

"  You  wouldn't  ?"  And  a  storm  began  to  gather 
in  the  major's  eyes.     "  Why^  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  I  wouldn't  satisfy  him  so  far  ; 
besides,  he  might  try  to  run  away  with  me  or 
something.     I  wouldn't  trust  him  !" 

The  words  were  spoken  thoughtlessly  ;  but  the 
major  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  stood  silent.  Nell 
left  him,  and  tripped  down  stairs  to  join  Gus  in  the 
garden,  leaving  him  to  his  own  reflections. 

An  hour  passed  away  ;  Nell  and  Gus  left  the  gar- 
den and  piazza  for  the  cool,  pleasant  parlor  ;  but  the 
major  still  remained  watching  for  the  arrival  of 
Edith  and  De  Lisle.  Another  hour  passed  on,  and 
still  tney  came  not.  The  major  began  to  feel  anxious 
and  angry  at  the  prolonged  absence.  His  anxiety 
began  to  communicate  itself  to  the  other  members 
of  the  family,  as  another  hour  wore  away  without 
them.    A  thousand  conjectures  were  formed  as  to 


JOE    SMITH. 


165 


the  cause  of  this  unaccountable  absence,  but  none 
seenied  satisfactory.  As  midnight  approached, 
uneasiness  changed  into  real  alarm  ;  and  the  major 
and  Gus,  unable  to  endure  the  suspense  longer, 
mounted  their  horses,  and  rode  off  in  the  direction 
they  had  taken. 

A  sleepless  night  was  passed  in  Percival  Hall. 
Early  in  the  morning,  both  returned  from  their  fruit- 
less search,  weary  and  dispirited.  No  clue  to  their 
whereabouts  could  be  discovered  ;  and  all  gazed 
into  each  other's  faces,  pale  with  terror. 

Half  an  hour  after  their  return,  a  servant  entered, 
bearing  a  note  which,  he  said,  had  been  given  him 
by  a  man,  who  immediately  departed.  The  major 
glanced  at  the  superscription,  and  recognized  the 
bold,  free  hand  of  De  Lisle.  Tearing  it  open,  he 
read  : 


; 

: 


"My  Dear  Sir  :  As,  for  wise  reasons,  doubtless, 
you  decline  bestowing  on  me  the  hand  of  your  fair 
daughter,  I  am  under  the  painful  necessity  of  making 
her  my  wife  without  troubling  you  to  give  her 
away.  For  your  own  sake,  I  feel  convinced  you  will 
not  make  a  public  affair  of  this — as  I  judge  you  have 
too  much  pride  to  allow  your  daughter's  good  name 
to  become  a  byword  for  the  town.  Rest  assured  she 
shall  be  treated  with  all  the  respect  due  to  the  daugh- 
ter of  so  distinguished  a  gentleman  as  Major  Per- 
cival ;  and  when  once  my  wife,  shall  be  restored  to 
her  home  on  one  condition.  It  is,  that  you  will  give 
me  her  fortune  as  a  sort  of  ransom,  which,  as  you 
are  wealthy,  no  doubt  you  will  willingly  do.  If  you 
refuse,  why,  then  it  will  be  all  the  worse  for  your 
pretty,  but  rather  stubborn  daughter.  The  retreat 
to  which  I  have  taken  her  is  secure,  and  you  cannot 


^f 


H 


\l 


-I' 

if 


h 


:t 


166 


JOE    SMITH. 


discover  it  ;  therefore,  you  had  better  make  up  your 
mind  to  comply  with  my  terms  at  once.  If  you  do, 
your  daughter  shall  be  immediately  restored  to  you  ; 
if  not — 

"  I  have  the  honor,  my  dear  sir,  to  remain, 

"  Yours  sincerely,        Ralph  De  Lisle," 

**  The  scoundrel !  the  treacherous,  deceitful  vil- 
lain !"  thundered  the  major,  springing  to  his  feet, 
white  with  passion. 

"What  is  it  ?"  demanded  Gus  and  Nell,  while  Mrs. 
Percival's  eyes  asked  the  same  question,  though  her 
lips  were  silent. 

"  Read  that !"  exclaimed  the  major,  as  he  flung 
the  missive  he  had  crumpled  in  his  hand,  fiercely 
from  him.     "  Read  that  !  for  I  cannot  tell  you  !" 

Nell  took  it  up,  and  read  it  slowly  from  beginning 
to  end. 

"  Merciful  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Percival, 
**  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Do  ?"  shouted  the  major,  "  I'll  send  a  bullet 
through  his  heart  if  ever  rny  eyes  light  on  him 
again.  The  black-hearted  villain  !  Is  this  his  return 
for  all  I  have  done  for  him  ?  My  daughter  !  My 
daughter  in  the  power  of  such  a  villain  !" 

"  My  dear  sir,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  exclaimed  a 
well-known  voice  ;  and  looking  up,  they  beheld 
Nugent,  dusty  and  travel-worn,  standing  before 
them. 

In  a  few  words,  Nell  related  all  that  had  transpired, 
for  the  rest  were  too  much  excited  to  do  so,  and 
ended  by  placing  De  Lisle's  letter  in  his  hand.  The 
brow  of  Nugent  grew  dark,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
fiercely  ;  but  subduing  all  other  signs  of  anger,  he 
turned  to  his  father,  and  said  : 


JOB    SMITH. 


167 


"  Well,  sir,  on  what  plan  have  you  decided  ?" 

"  Plan  ?  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  of  pursuing 
that  scoundrel  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Mount ! 
mount !  and  after  him  !" 

**Stay  !"  cried  a  voice  that  made  them  all  start,  it 
was  so  stern  and  commanding.  "  Are  you  mad  to 
start  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase  ?  Wait ;  follow  my 
directions,  and  all  will  be  well !" 

They  looked  up,  and  behold,  to  their  amazement, 
the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs,  who  stood  before  them  like 
some  prophet  of  old,  in  his  flowing  robes,  majestic 
bearing,  and  snowy  hair. 

"  You  here  !"  exclaimed  Nugent,  in  surprise. 

"  And  wherefore  not,  my  son  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  the  city.  You  were  there 
a  short  time  ago  !"  said  Nugent. 

**  Whithersoever  my  duty  leads  me,  there  am  I," 
answered  the  hermit,  in  his  calm,  grave  voice.  "  The 
wolf  hath  stolen  a  lamb  from  the  flock,  and  the  rest 
shall  be  left  in  the  desert  while  we  search  for  the 
one  that  is  lost.  Listen  to  me,  and  go  not  forth 
rashly." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  fooling !"  exclaimed  the 
major,  impatiently.  "  Stand  aside,  old  man,  and  let 
us  begone  !" 

"  Nay,  there  is  one  come  who  will  show  you  the 
way,"  said  the  hermit.  "  Why  should  you  wandej*  in 
the  dark  when  there  is  light  at  hand  ?" 

'^Doyim  know  where  my  daughter  is  ?"  demanded 
Major  Percival,  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  upon  him. 

"  One  is  at  hand  who  does  !"  repeated  the  hermit, 
in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "  My  hand  may  not  point 
out  the  way,  but  trust  in  him  who  will  follow  me. 
His  eyes  have  been  opened,  and  to  him  it  is  given  to 
rescue  the  maiden  of  the  house  of  Pereival." 


P 


T    *i 


.  ti 


!i 


'\ 


I  ;S! 


'^1 


168 


JOB     SMITH. 


**  Pshaw  !  why  do  we  stay,  listening  to  such  non- 
sense ?"  demanded  the  major,  impetuously.  "What 
can  this  hoary  old  man  know  of  Edith  ?  Let  us 
away  ;  why  should  we  waste  time  lingering  here  ?" 

He  turned  to  go  ;  but  the  hand  of  the  hermit  was 
laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Thou  shalt  remain,  Major  Percival !"  he  said,  in 
the  same  firm,  calm  tone  of  command.  "  It  is  given 
me  to  know  that  if  you  now  set  out,  you  will  prove 
unsuccessful.  Remain  ;  he  who  cometh  after  me  is 
at  hand,  and  when  he  arrives,  with  thy  son  and  this 
youth,  let  him  search  for  the  lost  daughter  of  thy 
house  ;  but  do  you  remain  here  and  watch  over  those 
who  are  left. 

He  bowed  slowly  and  with  grave  dignity  ;  and 
folding  his  garment  around  him,  quitted  the  house. 

All  stood  looking  in  the  face  of  each  other,  in 
amazement  and  uncertainty.  Surprise^  that  he 
should  know  already  what  had  occurred,  and  wonder 
at  the  probable  meaning  of  his  words,  where  mingled 
with  an  uncertainty  whether  to  iollow  his  advice  or 
not.  The  major  and  Nugent  thou^jht  of  the  strange 
power  he  exercised  over  Sir  William  Stanley  ;  and  in 
spite  of  their  impatience,  were  half  inclined  to  follow 
his  advice.  Ere  they  could  folly  determine  what 
course  to  pursue,  however,  Fred  Stanley,  his  fine  face 
flushed,  and  his  garments  disordered,  stood  before 
them. 

"  Stanley  !  by  all  that's  wonderful !"  exclaimed 
Nugent,  in  unbounded  astonishment. 

The  major's  brow  grew  dark  as  night  ;  but  the 
young  man,  in  his  excitement,  scarcely  seemed  to 
notice  him. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Where  is  Edith  ?"  was  his 
first  demand. 


JOE    SMITH. 


169 


"  Young  man,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  us 
what  sent  you  here  ?"  said  the  major,  sternly,  step- 
ping forward. 

"  Certainly,  sir  !"  said  Fred,  with  a  stiff  bow,  "  this 
singular  note."  And  he  drew  forth  a  letter,  and 
handed  it  to  the  major,  who  opened  it,  and  read  : 

"  Ride,  ride  for  your  life  to  Percival  Hall.  She 
whom  you  love  is  in  the  power  of  your  rival.  He 
has  carried  her  off  by  force.  Take  the  road  to  the 
north,  near  the  village  of  R.  are  the  pine  woods, 
where  an  old  mansion  of  De  Lisle's  is  situated. 
There  you  will  find  Edith  Percival.  E.  S., 

''Hermit  of  the  Cliffsr 


"  Let  us  start  instantly  !"  exclaimed  the  major. 
**  Every  moment  is  precious." 

"  You  had  better  follow  the  directions  of  the  her- 
mit, and  remain  her«,"  said  Nugent.  "  We  three, 
with  one  or  two  friends,  will  be  enough.  De  Lisle's 
men  are  in  all  probability  far  enough  from  their 
leader,  who  feels  too  secure  in  his  retreat  to  dread  a 
visit  from  us.  Besides,  I  have  a  message  for  you 
from  your  friend,  Colonel  Greyson,  which  admits 
of  no  delay,  and  will  absolutely  prevent  your  going 
with  us." 

The  major  seemed  still  uncertain  ;  but  the  others 
joined  Nugent  in  urging  him  to  obey  the  hermit, 
and  remain  behind. 

Having  at  length  reluctantly  consented,  Fred,  Gus 
and  young  Percival,  with  one  or  two  friends,  started 
in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  the  hermit. 

Having  reached  the  place  indicated,  they  secreted 
themselves  in  the  woods,  while  Nugent,  who  was 
familiar  with  the  place,  went  to  reconnoitre. 


V 


170 


JOB    SMITH. 


' 


:ii 


1    i1 

V! 

i  ; 
! 

;  I 

i 


iipi  I 


I'  «'!! 


li 


m 


Me  'a"*  f-turnc'*  with  the  ominous  intelligence 
th.  t  asti  was  a  force  six  times  their  number  in  the 
oid  :  ise,  3nd  that  it  would  ruin  their  cause  alto- 
gether to  atun/ipt  at  present  to  contend  against  such 
odds.  Nothing  remained,  therefore,  but  to  lie  in 
wait,  and  seize  the  first  favorable  opportunity. 
None,  however,  presented  itself  ;  and  the  afternoon 
of  the  following  day,  accidentally  overhearing  a  con- 
versation between  two  of  De  Lisle's  men,  by  which 
they  learned  the  marriage  was  to  take  place  that 
ver}^  day,  they  determined  at  all  risks  to  make  the 
attempt,  the  result  of  which  is  already  known  to  the 
reader. 

Half  an  hour  after  his  interview  with  Edith,  De 
Lisle  sat  in  his  own  room,  eating  a  hasty  breakfast 
ere  he  departed  on  his  journey.  His  meditations 
were  at  length  abruptly  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Nan  Crow,  who,  in  her  usual  screeching  tones, 
announced  that  a  boy  without  wished  to  see  him. 

"  What  does  he  want  ?"  said  De  Lisle. 

"  Want  ?"  repeated  Miss  Crow,  *'  yes  ;  he  wants  to 
see  you." 

''  What  is  his  business  ?"  demanded  De  Lisle,  rais> 
ing  his  voice, 

**  None  of  my  business  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Crow,  in 
rising  wrath  ;  "allers  the  way  every  one  treats  me 
arter  a  trottin'  me  off  mj  legs  with  the  rhumatiz  in 
the  small  of  my  back,  a  bringing  of  pesky  young  gals 
to  'tend  on,  what  ain't  no  business  here,  a  fighten 
and  sitten  up  killing  of  one  another,  with  the  rhuma- 
tiz in  the  small  of  my  back — " 

"Go  to  the  deuce,  you  old  fool  !"  angrily  inter- 
rupted De  Lisle,  "  be  off  with  you  and  bring  him 
here,  whoever  he  is  1" 


JOE    SMITH. 


171 


Muttering  to  herself,  Nan  Crow  quitted  the  room, 
and  presently  re-appeared  with  a  youth  of  some  six- 
teen years — a  rough,  uncouth-looking  lad. 

He  was  small  for  his  age,  ar  ^  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
coarse  gray  homespun,  which  )0  d,  to  use  a  com- 
mon but  expressive  phrase,  ?  fh».  jh  they  had  been 
thrown  on  by  a  pitchfork  hi-z  face  was  bronzed 
and  darkened  by  exposure  to  at  sun,  his  eyes  were 
bright  and  intelligent,  an  sb-^ne  and  glittered  like 
glass  beads  through  the  coarse  masses  of  uncombed 
sandy  hair.  His  walk  was  peculiar,  as  he  shuffled 
along  in  a  pair  of  huge  cowhide  boots,  dragging  his 
legs  after  him  as  though  they  belonged  to  somebody 
else. 

Such  was  the  lad  who  now  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
before  De  Lisle,  shifting  uneasily  'from  one  foot  to 
the  other. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  demanded  De  Lisle,  gazing 
rather  contemptuously  at  the  new-comer. 

"  Joe  Smith,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  with  a  strong 
nasal  twang  of  "  deown  cast." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  kinder  kalkerlated  on  gettin'  work." 

**  Work  ?  what  kind  of  work  ?"  said  De  Lisle. 

**  Wall,  I  ain't  particular  ;  most  anything  comes 
handy  to  me." 

"  What  have  you  been  accustomed  to  ?" 

"  Little  of  everything,  boss.  I  gen'ly  worked  on 
the  farm  to  hum." 

"  Why  did  you  lea  as  you  call  it  ?" 

**  Wall,  me  and  m*  id  Glory  Ann  thought  as 

how  I'd  better  com*  Bosting  and  'list  ;  but 

arter  lookin'  round  a  spell,  I  didn't  like  it,  and  kin- 
eluded  'twasn't  no  sich  fun  to  be  shot  at  as  'twas 
cracked  up  to  be." 


173 


JCE    SMITH. 


i: 


\   >.  f' 


"  What  induced  you  to  come  here  ?" 

"  Why,  I'd  heart!  tell  o'  you  some,  and  thought 
maybe  you  wouldn't  mind  hirin'  a  new  hand  to  cook 
vittils,  and  bring  water,  and  chop  wood,  and  sicA. 
You  see,  boss,  I'm  rather  a  smart  chap,  'specially 
arter  a  lickin'  ;  and  didn't  see  no  reason  why  I'd 
waste  my  talents  a-raising  punkins  all  my  life  ;  so 
when  I  makes  my  fortin  here,  I  intends  goin*  home, 
and  gettin'  spliced  onto  Glory  Ann  Lazybones,  a  gal 
what's  a  reg'lar  buster  and  no  mistake." 

"  You  are  an  original,"  said  De  Lisle,  rather 
amused,  *'  but  I  am  surprised  that  you  do  not  wish 
to  join  the  rebels,  like  so  many  others  of  your 
class," 

"  Wall,  boss,  I  allers  had  high  ideers  since  I  was 
'bout  so  old,  when  I  used  to  ride  roun'  every  day  on 
mother's  old  clothes-horse  for  exercise.  These  here 
rebels  ain't  no  'count,  and  bein*  the  weaker  party,  I 
intends  pitchin'  into  'cm  like  a  thousand  o'  bricks. 
Mother  allers  sez — sez  she  :  *Joe,*  sez  siie,  *  you 
stick  to  the  strongest  party,  my  son,  it's  allers  best/ 
so,  in  course,  as  I'm  a  dootiful  son,  I  obeys  the  old 
'omati.  'Sides,  if  I  turn  Britisher,  and  help  to  lick 
our  boys,  there's  no  tellin'  but  what  they'll  want  to 
make  a  lord  or  an  earl  o*  me  one  o'  these  days. 
Lord  Joe  Smith  !  Jee-whittica  '.  that  sounds  sort  o' 
grand,  don't  it  ?" 

"  I  see — number  one's  your  look-out !"  said  De 
Lisle.  "  Well,  since  your  ambition  soars  so  high,  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  deprive  Glory  Ann  of  the  chance 
to  become  Lady  Smith  ;  so  I  don't  mind  taking  you 
into  my  service." 

"  Thankee,  boss  ;  you're  a  brick  I"  interrupted  Mr. 
Smith,  patronizingly. 

"  Don't  be  so  familiar,  sir,"  said  De  Lisle,  sharply. 


I 


JOE    SMITH. 


173 


"Learn  a  little  more  respect  when  addressing  your 
betters.  For  the  present,  your  duty  will  consist  in 
assisting  my  housekeeper  in  her  household  affairs, 
and  in  looking  after  and  attending  to  the  wants  of 
two  or  three  prisoners  confined  here.  One  of  my 
men  will  direct  you  what  to  do.  And  now,  to  begin 
your  new  duties,  go  and  saddle  my  horse,  and  bring 
him  round  to  the  door." 

*'  All  right,  siree  !"  replied  Joe,  clapping  his  hat  on 
his  head,  and  giving  it  a  vigorous  thump  down  over 
his  eyes,  as  he  hastened  out  to  obey  the  order,  leav- 
irng  De  Lisle  to  finish  his  breakfast. 

"  There  is  yet  one  more  duty  to  perform,"  muttered 
De  Lisle,  rising  :  "  one  so  agreeable  that  it  amply 
compensates  for  all  the  humiliation  I  have  been, 
through  him,  forced  to  endure.  Master  Fred  Stan- 
ley, I  go  to  pay  you  a  morning  visit,  and  see  how 
you  estimate  my  kind  hospitality,  in  keeping  you 
here  my  guest." 

The  sinister  smile  he  wore,  made  his  face  almost 
repulsive,  as  he  arose  and  left  the  room. 

Passing  through  a  long  hall,  he  descended  a  flight 
of  narrow  winding  stairs,  and  stood  in  another  long 
hall,  flanked  on  each  side  by  doors.  A  sentry  stood 
pacing  to  and  fro  before  them.  He  paused  and 
touched  his  hat  respectfully  on  seeing  De  Lisle. 

"Where  is  Stanley  confined  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Here,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  opening  one  of 
the  doors,  to  allow  him  to  enter. 

De  Lisle  passed  in,  and  found  himself  in  a  low, 
gloomy  room,  with  a  damp,  unwholesome  odor. 
Seated  on  a  low  stool,  the  only  article  of  furniture  it 
contained,  was  Fred  Stanley,  his  forehead  leaning  on 
his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  his  brow  knit, 
as  though  in  deep,  troubled  thought.     As  the  creak- 


"  i 


l: 


y  f 


ih  " 


174 


JOE    SMITH. 


ing  of  the  heavy  door  fell  on  his  ear,  he  looked  up 
quickly,  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  as  he  saw  his  mortal 
foe  before  him. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  silently  facing  each 
other — those  two  rivals.  De  Lisle's  face  wore  a  look 
of  triumph,  mingled  with  most  intense  and  deadly 
hatred.  A  bitter,  sneering  smile  was  on  his  lip,  and 
a  look  of  gratified  malice  in  his  eyes.  Fred,  stern, 
and  cold,  and  haughty,  stood  opposite  him,  his  arms 
folded  across  his  breast,  returning  his  gaze  with  such 
a  look  of  lofty  scorn,  that,  in  spite  of  himself,  De 
Lisle  quailed  before  him. 

"  Well,  Frederic  Stanley,  my  hour  of  triumph  has 
come,"  said  De  Lisle,  with  a  look  of  malignant  tri- 
umph. 

"  Villain  I  do  your  worst  !  I  defy  you  I"  was  the 
bold  answer. 

**  That  most  assuredly  I  shall  do,"  returned  De 
Lisle.  "  Before  the  sun's  rise  and  set,  you  shall  die 
the  ignominious  death  of  the  halter." 

*•  Do  your  worst,  Ralph  De  Lisle  ;  I  fear  you  not  !" 
was  the  rejoinder. 

"  When  you  crossed  my  path,  and  won  the  affec- 
tions of  her  whom  I  loved,  I  swore  a  deadly  oath  of 
vengeance.  Fortune  has  favored  me,  the  time  has 
come,  and  your  hours  are  numbered.  She  whom 
you  love  is  in  my  power,  and  the  same  hour  which 
will  see  you  swinging  a  discolored  corpse  between 
heaven  and  earth,  will  see  her  a  bride  in  my  arms. 
You  both  began  a  dangerous  game,  Fred  Stanley, 
when  you  thwarted  my  wishes,  as  you  will  find  when 
the  halter  is  around  your  neck,  and  as  she  will 
discover  when,  after  making  her  mine,  I  will  whisper 
in  her  ear  the  fate  of.  him  whom  she  loves  better  than 
life." 


JOB   SMITH. 


175 


"  Fiend  !  Devil  in  human  form  !  Do  your  worst, 
and  may  the  heaviest  curse  of  Heaven  fall  upon 
you  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  growing  livid  with  passion. 

"  Ha  !  I  thought  you  would  feel  that  !"  said  De 
Lisle,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  You  will  have  ample 
time  to  meditate  on  these  and  many  other  consoling 
truths  between  this  and  the  day  of  doom.  It  will 
also,  doubtless,  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  know  that 
Edith  will  be  a  prisoner  under  the  same  roof  with 
you  until  my  return,  which  may  be  to-morrow,  or  at 
the  furthest,  three  days  hence.  And  now  it  occurs 
to  me  that  my  revenge  will  be  greater  to  allow  you 
to  be  present  at  our  bridal.  I  will  thus  have  a 
double  triumph  over  you  both." 

"  A  fiend  could  not  be  more  diabolical  !"  exclaimed 
Fred,  paling  involuntarily  at  his  words. 

"  Have  I  not  well  learned  the  art  of  torturing  ?" 
went  on  De  Lisle,  with  a  fiendish  smile.  "  Death 
itself  would  be  nothing — that  would  be  a  poor  tri- 
umph. I  know  you  well  enough  to  be  aware  that 
you  do  not  fear  death  ;  but  the  torture  I  shall  inflict 
before  death  will  last  even  after  the  soul  has  left  the 
body.  I  will  leave  you  now  to  repose  and  solitude. 
You  will  have  ample  time,"  he  added,  with  a  sneer, 
"to  meditate  on  your  latter  end,  i«nd  make  your 
peace  with  Heaven  during  my  .Tbsence.  Shauid  I 
return  to-morrow,  before  another  s  m  sets  yo  i  ihall 
swing  as  high  as  Haman.  Au  revoir^  until  1  meet 
you  again  on  Abraham's  bosom." 

And  turning  on  his  heel,  he  strode  from  the 
room. 

*'  To-morrow  ?"  repeated  Fred,  gazing  after  his 
retreating  figure,  "  who  knows  what  to-morrow 
may  bring  forth  ?" 


'17 


111     i 


' 


^   5; 


176 


JOE  VISITS  EIS  PKISONEBS. 


|i|'!f 


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CHAPTER  XVII. 

JOE  VISITS   HIS    PRISONERS, 

"  Trust  in  God  ! 
Thou  forlorn  one,  cease  thy  moan ; 

All  thy  pain  and  all  thy  sorrow. 
Are  to  God,  the  Highest  known  ; 
He  leaves  thee  now,  but  helps  to-morrow. 
Trust  in  God  !" 

The  bright  sunshine  of  the  morning  following  that 
eventful  night  shone  into  Edith's  room  ;  but  it  was 
all  unheeded  by  her.  She  lay  on  her  face  on  the 
bed,  not  sleeping,  but  in  a  deep,  heavy  torpor,  her 
white  arms  extended  above  her  head,  so  still  and 
motionless  that  but  for  the  quick,  rapid  breathing, 
one  might  imagine  her  dead. 

Not  of  herself  was  she  thinking,  but  of  those 
for  whom  she  would  have  given  her  life — of  ong 
whom  she  would  gladly  have  died  to  save.  Fred  I 
Fred  !  all  through  that  miserable  night  his  name  had 
been  on  i.cr  lips — his  image  alone  in  her  heart. 
Never  again  would  she  meet  those  dear,  dark  eyes — 
already,  perhaps,  closed  forever ;  that  brave,  impul- 
sive heart,  whose  every  throb  had  been  for  her, 
might  now  be  cold  and  still  in  death.  All  that  had 
ever  made  life  desirable  seemed  lost  to  her  forever  ; 
and  in  the  glad  sunshine  of  that  bright  morning,  she 
lay  and  prayed  for  death. 

The  bolt  was  withdrawn,  the  door  opened,  some 
one  entered,  but  she  did  not  look  up.  Siie  was  con- 
scious that  some  one  was  bending  over  her,  but  still 


JOE  VISITS   HIS   PRISONERS. 


177 


she  did  [not  move  until  she  heard  a  strange  voice 
muttering,  in  a  sort  of  soliloquy  : 

"  Crickey  !  she  beats  the  seven  sleepers,  she  does  ! 
I'm  blamed  if  she  ain't  as  sound  as  a  top.  Wall,  I 
s'pose  I'd  better  leave  the  vittals  here,  and  arter  her 
snooze  she'll  fall  to." 

With  a  start,  Edith  rose  on  her  elbow,  and  gazed 
wildly  around.  Her  amazement  at  beholding  the 
uncouth  figure  and  face  of  honest  Joe  Smitii,  may  be 
imagined.  So  completely  was  she  bewildered  that 
she  continued  to  stare  at  him  between  surprise  and 
terror,  scarcely  knowing  whether  to  cry  out  for  help 
or  not.  Joe,  however,  bore  her  scrutiny  with  wonder- 
ful composure,  and  returned  her  stare  with  com- 
pound interest. 

**  Good-mornin*,  marm,  fine  day  this  ;  how's  your 
folks?  I  hope  the  old  woman  and  all  the  folks  to 
hum  is  well  !"  said  Joe,  in  a  tone  of  condescending 
politeness. 

''Whatr  said  Edith,  rather  bewildered  by  the 
rapidity  with  which  this  speech  was  delivered. 

"  Never  mind,  'taint  worth  sayin'  over  again," 
said  Joe.  **  I  hope  I  didn't  disturb  any  pleasant 
dreams  o'  yourn.  You  was  sleepin'  away  like  all 
creation  when  I  came  in  !" 

"  Who  sent  you  here  ?"  inquired  Edith,  vvhose 
terror  had  not  quite  vanished. 

"  Wall,  the  cap'n  did,  marm,"  replied  Joe  ; "  I  'xpect 
I'm  to  be  waitin'-maid  till  he  comes  back,  I  haint 
no  objections  to  it,  though — 'cause,  maybe,  I'll  be 
able  to  I'arn  Glory  Ann  somethin'  in  her  line  arler  I 
go  back  to  hum.  Here's  your  breakfas',  marm,  what 
that  jolly  old  case  down  in  the  kitchen  sent  me  with. 
Seems  to  me  the  cap'n's  got  a  taste  for  keepin'  peo- 
ple in  the  lock-up,  judgin'  by  all  I've  'tended  to  this 


178 


JOE  VISITS   HIS  PBISONEBS. 


mornin*.     Let's  see — two  and  one's  three  and  one's 
four — four  I've  visited  this  mornin',  countin'  you." 

An  exclamation  of  delight  broke  involuntarily 
from  the  lips  of  Edith.  Three  besides  her  I  Then 
Fred  was  living  still. 

"  Hey  ?  What  is  it  ?  Did  you  stick  a  pin  in  you  ?" 
inquired  Joe,  mistaking  the  cause  of  her  emotion. 

**  Who  were  the  three  you  visited  this  morning  }" 
inquired  Edith,  with  breathless  interest. 

*'  Wall,  let's  see,"  said  Joe,  closing  one  eye  and 
laying  his  forefinger  meditatively  on  the  point  of  his 
nose,  "  the  first,  I  think,  somebody  called  Goose^  or 
somethin'  about  the  size  o'  that." 

'*  Gus,"  amended  Edith,  eagerly. 

"  Yaas,  Gus,  or  Goose,  or  some  sort  o'  a  fowl.  I 
found  him  lyin'on  the  floor,  takin'a  snooze,  I  s'pose, 
somethin'  like  I  found  you.  He  got  up  when  I  came 
in,  and  fell  to  the  vittals  as  if  he'd  been  livin'  on 
pavin'-stones  for  a  week,  an'  'tween  every  mouthful, 
he  took  to  askiu*  me  a  string  o'  questions  long  as  a 
lawyer's  conscience.  He  wanted  to  know  all  the 
particulars  'howX.  you^  and  'fore  he'd  give  me  time  to 
answer  one  of  'em,  he  blowed  the  cap'n  and  the 
whole  blamed  consarn  sky-high.  'Twa'n't  no  use  to 
try  to  reason  matters  with  him,  'cause  when  I  took 
to  arguin',  'fore  I  got  to  thirdly,  he  told  me  to  go  and 
be  hanged.  You  see  I  couldn't  stand  that — I  wasn't 
used  to  it,  mother  never  'lowed  no  profane  swearin'  to 
hum,  so  I  just  told  him  to  be  hanged  himself,  if  he 
likedj  but  as  for  me,  I  was  like  the  Highlandman, 
in  no  hurry." 

''What  Highlandman  ?"  inquired  Edith,  absently. 

"  Why,  some  old  Scotch  big-bug,  long  ago,  had  a 
servant  that  did  somethin',  T  forgot  what,  and  he  was 
goin'  to  hang  tiim  for  it.     But,  you  see,  the  servaaC 


.„^^ 


JOE  VISITS  HIS  PKISONEBS, 


179 


I  1 


had  been  a  favorite  of  his,  so  his  master  told  him 
he'd  grant  him  the  favor  of  choosing  whichever  tree 
in  his  orchard  he'd  like  to  be  hung  on.  The  servant 
was  tickled  to  death  to  hear  it  an'  went  out  to  choose 
the  tree  with  his  master.  At  last,  he  stopped  before 
a  gooseberry  bush,  and  said  he'd  be  hung  onto  that, 

"*Go  to  grass!'  sez  his  master;  'that  ain't  big 
enough  to  hang  a  six-footer  like  you  on  !' 

"  *  Oh,  well,*  sez  the  servant,  *  I'll  wait  till  it  grows 
big.     Tm  in  no  hurry  !' " 

"  But  the  others — the  others  ?"  exclaimed  Edith, 
who  had  listened  impatiently  to  this  digression. 

"  Oh,  ya-as — ^just  so.  Well,  the  next  was  the  very 
picter  o'  you  —  s'pect  he  must  be  some  relation.  He 
was  sittin'  down  onto  a  bench,  an'  asked  me  a  few 
questions — not  many,  though  ;  'bout  a  dozen  or  so 
— if  I'd  seen  you,  and  where  was  the  boss,  and  so  on. 
It  was  sort  o'  comfortable  to  talk  to  him  sides  the 
other  two,  who  didn't  seem  to  have  a  single  grain  o* 
senses  in  their  knowledge-boxes." 

"  And  the  third  ?"  demanded  Edith,  hurriedly. 

"  Him  ?  Oh,  Jerusalem  !  I've  seen  a  wildcat — I've 
seen  a  bear  with  a  sore  head — I've  seen  a  gander 
when  somebody  carried  off  the  goslin's  before  him 
— I've  seen  mother  in  a  passion,  and  a-flarin*  around 
at  the  governor — but  I  never,  never,  never  saw  such 
a  savage,  wild-lookin'  stunner  as  the  t'other  one. 
Cracky  !  when  I  went  in  thar,  he  was  a-tearin'  up 
and  down  as  though  he  was  boun'  to  have  a  walk 
somehow  if  the  floor  held  out — lookin'  so  sort  o* 
savage  lookin'  an'  fierce,  that  I  like  to  spilt  his 
breakfas' a  top  of  him.  It's  lucky  I  didn't ;  for  if  he'd 
got  his  dander  riz  any  wuss,  the  Lor'  a  massy  only 
knows  whar  Joe  Smith  'd  be  now,    I'm  blamed  if  I 


180 


JOE  VISITS   HIS   PRISONERS. 


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ever  seen  any  one  in  sicli  a  tearin'  rage  as  that  cove 
was  in." 

"  It  must  have  been  Fred,"  tliought  Edith.  "Was 
he  wounded  ? — how  did  he  look  ?"  she  asked,  aloud. 

"  Wall,  marm,  1  don't  know  as  I  kin  tell,"  said  Joe, 
thoughtfully.  "  He  set  me  into  sich  a  flusterifica- 
tion,  ihat  it  was  most  a  danger  to  look  at  him.  He 
had  a  black  coat  and  trousis,  and  hair  on,  and  was  as 
tall  as — as — I  don't  know  who  (that's  a  nice  size  for 
a  man).  He  was  sort  o'  darkish  lookin',  with  a  black 
tnurstnasher  onto  his  upper  lip.  Some  people  might 
call  him  good  lookin'  ;  but  Glory  Ann  allers  sez  fair 
hair's  the  nicest."  And  Joe  gave  his  tow  locks  a 
complacent  shake. 

"  Would  you  bring  a  message  from  me  to  them .?" 
inquired  Edith,  eagerly. 

"  Wall,  now,  I  don't  know,"  said  Joe  rather  reluc- 
tantly ;  "'twould  be  sorter  agin  orders,  you  know. 
Sorry  to  refuse  you,  marm,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"Tell  him,  at  least,  that  I  will  die  sooner  than 
marry  De  Lisl«.  You  will  befriend  me  by  doing  so  ; 
and  you  can  do  no  one  any  possible  injury,"  said 
Edith,  pleadingly. 

"  Tell  who,  marm — which  of  'em  ?'* 

"  The  one  you  spoke  of  last." 

•'  Oh  !  the  fierce-lookin'  one.  Yes'm,  I  don't  mind 
tellin'  him.  But  I  guess  h«  won't  care.  I  don't 
believe  -le'd  go  to  the  weddin*  if  he  was  asked." 

"  You  will  tell  him,  at  least  ? — you  will  not  forget 
it?"  s^aid  Edith,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no  fear  ;  I'll  tell  him  if  he  does  blow  me  up. 
*Tany  rate,  I  guess  weddin's  is  the  last  thing  he'll 
think  about,  'cause  the  boss  is  boun'  to  string  him 
up  like  a  dried  mackerel  soon  as  ever  he  comes 
back." 


^t 


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JOE  VISITS   HIS  PBISONEBS. 


181 


I. 


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i 


A  convulsive  shudder  was  Edith's  only  answer. 

"  Wall,  now,  marm,  I  wouldn't  take  on  so  if  I  was 
you,"  said  Joe,  gazing  sympathetically  toward  Edith. 
"  Arter  all,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  things  should  turn 
out  all  right  in  the  end.  P'raps  you've  hearn  tell  o' 
people  entertainin'  angels  in  disguise  ?" 

Edith  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  at  him  with  so 
much  surprise,  that  Joe  laughed  and  said  : 

*'  Keep  up  heart — there's  nothing  like  it.  I 
shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  me  and  Glory  Ann  danced  at 
your  weddin'  yet.  There's  never  no  use  in  frettin'. 
Hope  on,  hope  ever  !" 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  Edith,  with  an  undefined 
feeling  that  she  had  heard  the  voice  before. 

"  Lor' !  I'm  only  Joe  Smith,  from  Bungtown.  OM 
Jake  Smith's  my  governor,  an'  me  an*  Glory  Ana 
Lazybones  is  goin'  to  hitch  teams  one  of  these  times, 
when  they  make  a  lord  or  f  Tiethin*  of  me--tha£*s 
all.     'Taint  wuth  makin'  a  b 

"  I  think  you  resemble  so 
said  Edith,  with  a  puzzled  i 
not  tell.     Well,  you  may  le 
alone.     You  will  not  forg 

"All  right,  marm;  Joe  Smith's  got  a  stunnin' 
memory.  Good  morning.  I  s'pect  that  blessed  old 
angel  down  in  the  kitchen  '.l  give  me  fits  for  stayin* 
here  so  long.  Don't  forget  to  keep  up  your  spirits. 
I  don't  believe  we'll  have  a  weddin'  or  a  hangin'  so 
soon  as  the  boss  thinks." 

With  this  sage  concluding  remark,  worthy  Joe 
shuffled  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Edith  to  ruminate 
on  the  probable  meaning  of  his  words. 


A  of." 

one  I've  seen  before," 

)k  ;  "  but  whom,  I  can- 

e  me  now  ;  I  wish  to  be 

o  deliver  my  message  }" 


182 


PLOTTING. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PLOTTING. 

'  Nightly  tears  have  dimmed  the  lustre 

Of  thy  sweet  eyes,  once  so  bright ; 
And  as  when  dark  willows  cluster, 

Weeping  o'er  marble  rocks, 
O'er  thy  forehead  white, 

Droop  thy  waving  locks — 
Yet  thou  art  beautiful,  poor  girl, 

As  angels  in  distress — 
Yea,  comforting  thy  soul,  dear  girl, 

With  thy  lovelinees."— TUPPER. 


ii-»t'., 


l-i  V 


The  day's  toil  was  over.  Nan  Crow,  after  screech- 
ing, and  grumbling,  and  scolding  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent, had  thrown  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  fallen 
asleep  in  her  easy-chair  in  the  long  kitchen.  The 
men  were  loitering  idly  about — some  lying  on  the 
cool  grass,  where  the  shadows  fell  long  and  dark, 
rejoicing  in  the  cool  evening  breeze  after  the  scorch- 
ing heat  of  the  day  ;  some  sat  at  the  table  playing 
cards,  swearing  and  vociferating  at  an  appalling 
rate  ;  others  lounged  in  groups  round  the  room, 
with  bottles  and  glasses  before  them,  relating  their 
several  adventures  for  the  general  benefit  of  all. 

Mr.  Joe  Smith,  who  found  his  duties  of  maid-of-all- 
work  rather  fatiguing,  would  gHdiy  have  left  the 
revelers  to  themselves  ;  but  they,  havui^  no  one  to 
wait  on  them,  were  determined  he  should  not  escape 
so  easily. 

Unceasing  calls  for  Mrs.  Smith,  named 


PLOTTING. 


183 


him,  resounded  continually  from  one  end  of  the 
room  to  the  other,  until,  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  despera- 
tion, he  told  them  to  go  to  grass  and  wait  on  them- 
selves. A  shout  of  laughter,  and  a  unanimous  cry 
of  **  Come  back  !  come  back  !"  reached  him  ;  bat 
unheeding  their  shouts,  Joe  resolutely  made  his 
escape,  and  set  off  for  a  ramble  by  himself. 

Sitting  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  Joe  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of  profound 
musing.  For  upwards  of  an  hour  he  remained  thus, 
with  brows  knit,  eye^  iK-.-jd  on  the  ground,  and  lips 
compressed  like  one  in  deep  meditation.  Suddenly, 
a  new  light  seemed  to  dawn  on  him,  and  he  sprang 
to  his  feet  with  the  triumphant  exclamation  : 

♦'  I  have  it  !" 

"Have  what?"  said  a  merry  voice  beside  him, 
and,  turning  abruptly  round,  worthy  Joe  beheld  our 
little  friend  Elva. 

**  Wall,  now,  I  don't  know  as  it's  any  business  o* 
yourn,"  said  Joe,  surveying  Elva  coolly  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  You're  mighty  polite,"  said  Elva. 

"Wall,  yaas,  rayther j  Glory  Ann  allers  said  so," 
said  Joe,  modestly. 

"Who's  Glory  Ann?" 

"  A  young  lady  up  to  hum  ;  I'm  goin'  to  be  mar- 
ried to  her  some  day." 

"  Nice  girl,  I  expect  ?" 

"  Nice  !  That  word  doesn't  begin  to  tell  about 
Glory  Ann  Lazybones.  I  tell  you  she's  a  reg'lar 
screamer,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  !"  said  Elva.  "  Is  she  as  good- 
looking  as  I  am  ?" 

"Wall,  now,  I  don't  know.  Some  folks  might  say 
you  was  better  lookin';  but  /  don't.     You  ain't  so 


I 


1 

^     1    ii  ■ 

<1   :  ' 

■^    1'   ' 

184 


PLOTTING. 


showy,  you  know.  Glory  Ann's  got  nice  red  hair; 
and  red-haired  girls  is  aWers  smart  and  spunlcy." 

"Tliey  are,  eh  ?  Now,  if  I'd  Icnown  tliat  before, 
I'd  have  dyed,  and  not  gone  wliimpering  tliroiigh 
the  world,  afraid  to  call  my  soul  my  own.  Perhaps 
it's  not  too  late  yet,  eh  ?     What  do  you  think  ?" 

"Oh,  you  don't  need  it.  You've  got  impidence 
enough.      Yoiill  do** 

"  Well,  really,  that's  cool.     What's  your  name  ?" 

"  What's  j^arj/ 

"  Elvena  Snowe — not  so  pretty  as  Glory  Ann 
Lazybones,  is  it  ?" 

"  Not  quite  ;  hers  is  a  Scripter  name,  you  know. 
Yours  is  pooty,  though,  and  sounds  sort  o'  cool  this 
hot  weather." 

*'  Now,  what's  yours." 

"  Wall,  it  might  be  Beelzebub,  or  Nebuchadnezzar, 
or  any  other  Bible  name  ;  but  'taint.  I  reckon  I 
won't  tell  you  ;  I'd  rather  not  have  it  made  public." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Oil,  well,  Joe  Smith  ain't  a  common  name,  so  I 
guess  I'll  keep  it  a  secret.  'Sides,  there's  no  tellin' 
but  you  may  fall  in  love  with  me  ;  and  I'm  anxious 
to  avoid  sich  a  calamity** 

"You're  a  case!  Aren't  you  the  boy  De  Lisle 
hired  yesterday  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  mought  be,  and  ag'in  I  moughtn't.  Seems 
to  me  you're  very  inquisitive,"  said  Joe,  suspiciously. 

"And  it  seems  to  me  you're  very  cautious.  What 
do  you  take     le  for  .?"  said  Elva,  indignantly. 

"  Why,  y'  might  be  a  good  many  things — you 
mig'^t  be  r  ,  .vallis  or  Washington  in  disguise,  or 
you  might  be  a  spy  from  the  enemy.  There's  never 
no  tePMi'." 

"Yoj're  too  smart  to  live   long,  Joe,  dear.     How 


PLOTTING. 


185 


do  you  suppose  a  little  thing  like  me  could  be  any- 
body but  herself  ?" 

"  It  does  seem  odd,"  siid  Joe,  scratching  his  head, 
as  if  to  extract  some  reason  by  the  roots  ;  "  but  then, 
you  know,  it's  better  to  be  sure  tiian  sorry.  I  like 
to  be  on  my  guard,  so's  I  won't  leave  Glory  Ann  a 
widder." 

"I  honor  you  for  your  prudence,  my  son.  And 
now,  Joe,  when  I  assure  you  I'm  no  desperate  char- 
acter— neither  Cornwallis  nor  Washington  in  petti- 
coats— maybe  you'll  answer  me  a  few  questions  ?" 

"  Yaas'm,  if  they're  no  ways  improper  for  me  to 
listen  to." 

"You  sweet  innocent  !  do  you  think  I'd  ask  such 
a  saintly  cherub  TiS  ^y^//  anything  improper?  First, 
then,  there's  a  young  lady  confined  a  prisoner  in  that 
old  house  over  there." 

*'  Wall,  now,  I  raally  couldn't  say."  And  Joe, 
looked  innocently  unconscious  as  he  issued  this 
little  work  of  fiction. 

*'Oh,  get  out, and  don't  tell  fibs  {"exclaimed  Elva, 
indignantly.  "  There's  three  other  prisoners  there, 
too,  isn't  there  ?" 

"  There  might  be  ;  I  don't  like  to  say  for  sartin,  for 
fear  o'  tellin'  a  lie,"  replied  Joe,  shutting  one  eye, 
and  fixing  the  other  reflectively  on  a  grasshopper  at 
his  feet.  "  I'll  ask  when  I  go  back,  and  send  you  a 
letter  to  let  you  know." 

"  You  abominable  wretch  !  I  know  very  well 
they're  there,"  said  Elva,  losing  all  patience. 

"  Well,  and  if  you  know  very  v;ell,  where  the  mis- 
chief's the  use  o'  askin'  [me  a  string  of  impudent 
questions,  and  callin'  me  names  ?"  exclaimed  Joe,  in- 
dignantly. 


in 


•|j 


Ml' I 


1*1 


186 


PLOTTINO. 


Elva  couldn't  resist  laughing  at  Joe's  look  of  of 
fended  dignity. 

"Yes,  you  may  /ar/"  said  Joe,  with  a  look  of 
intense  disgust.  "  I  s'pose  it's  all  very  funny  comin' 
and  callin'  a  fellar  names.  It  shows  all  the 
brought'n  up  you  had  !"  And  Joe  gave  the  innocent 
grasshopper  at  his  feet  a  vicious  kick. 

"  There,  now,  Joe,  don't  get  mad,  like  a  good  boy," 
said  Elva,  patting  him  soothingly  on  the  back, 
"  listen  to  me  ;  I'm  Miss  Percival's  friend  and  wish 
to  see  her." 

**  Well,  go  and  see  her  then,"  said  Joe  sulkily,  "  I 
aint  hinderin'  you." 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  Elva,  "  unless  you  help  me." 

"  Me  !"  said  Joe,  opening  wide  his  eyes,  "  how  ?" 

"  Why,  you  must  find  the  key  of  the  side  door,  and 
let  me  in  that  way.  I  don't  want  anybody  to  see 
me.     Now,  do,  like  a  dear,  good  boy." 

"  You  be  grannied  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith  losing 
all  patience,  "can't  you  tell  a  fellar  who  you  want  to 
see,  and  not  be  goin'  on  with  your  story  hind- 
end  foremost." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  knew,"  said  Elva.  "  I 
mean  the  prisoner.  Miss  Percival." 

*'  Oh  !  that's  her  name,  is  it  ?  How  was  I  to 
know,  when  nobody  never  told  me  ?  So  you  want 
to  see  her,  do  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !     Do  let  me    n,  will  you  ? ' 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  ask  some  of  the  others  ?* 

**  Oh  !  they  won't  let  me,  they're  hateful,  but 
you're  not.  Ah,  Joe,  won't  you  ?"  And  Elva  looked 
pleadingly  up  in  his  face. 

"Wall,  now  marm,"  said  Joe,  laying  one  finger 
reflectively  on  his  nose.  "I'd  like  to  oblige  you  if 
'twas  any  ways  possible,  but  •*  ^'"^   found  out,  the 


i»LOTTINO. 


18T 


»• 


boss  wouldn't  make  no  bones  o' stringing  me  up  like 
a  red  iierrin',  and  I  tell  you  what,  I  hain't  no  ambi- 
tion to  be  elevated  in  the  world  after  tliat  fashion." 

"He  won't  find  you  out,  how  can  lie  ?"  exclaimed 
Elva,  impetuously  ;  "  he  is  away,  the  men  are  all 
lounging  and  drinking  in  the  other  wing  of  the 
building,  old  Nan  Crow  is  asleep,  and  there  is  no 
one  plotting  mischief  or  making  love  but  you  and 
me.  There  !  you  needn't  look  so  surprised.  I  know 
more  about  that  old  house  and  its  inmates  than  you 
think.  So  now,  Joe,  you  dear,  good-natured  look- 
ing old  soul,  let  me  in  to  see  Miss  Percival,  and  I'll 
dance  at  your  wedding." 

This  last  entreaty  had  a  due  effect  upon  Joe,  who 
indulged  in  sundry  low  chuckles  at  the  idea.  Recov- 
ering his  composure  at  last,  he  seated  himself  delib- 
erately on  the  log,  and  crossing  one  leg  over  the 
other,  and  fixing  his  eyes  solemnly  upon  his  cow- 
hide boots,  fell  into  a  profound  fit  of  musing.  Elva 
stood  watching  him,  swinging  her  light  straw  hat  by 
the  strings,  and  tapping  her  little  foot  impatiently 
up  and  down. 

"  Well,  now,  Joe,  I  hope  you'll  soon  hone  me  with 
an  answer,"  she  said,  at  last,  quite  out  of  patience. 
"  I  declare  I  never  saw  such  a  stick  of  a  fellow  as 
you  are,  a  body  can  hardly  get  a  word  out  of  you." 

**  Eh  ?"  said  Joe,  looking  up,  "  were  you  speakin' 
to  me,  Miss  Elva  ?" 

"Was  I  speaking  to  you,  Miss  Elva?"  repeated 
that  young  lady,  mimicking  his  tone.  "Yes,  I  was 
speaking  to  you.  Miss  Elva.  Did  you  ever  hear  it 
was  impolite  not  to  answer  a  lady  when  the  speaks 
to  you  ?" 

"  Wall,  if  I  don't  talk  much,  I  keeps  up  a  mighty 
big  thinking,"  said  Joe,  "  and  as  to  answerio'  ladies, 


.^^'^< 


Vsij', 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


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■  30 

us 


■  25 


2.2 


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1.8 


L25  111114   IIIIII.6 


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Photographic 

Science"* 
Cbrporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MS80 

(716)  872-4503 


188 


PLOTTING. 


why,  as  I  never  met  one  yet,  I  couldn't  hev*  bin  very 
imperlite  to  'em." 

"  Why,  you  horrid,  impudent  fellow,  what  do  you 
call  itie  but  a  lady  ? 

"  Oh  !  my  eyes  !"  ejaculated  Joe,  with  a  look  of 
infinite  contempt.  "  You  a  lady.  You  hain't  no 
more  the  look  of  one  than  I  hev.  Lady^  indeed  ! 
You  git  out  !" 

"  Well,  we  won't  argue  the  question  now,"  said 
Elva.  "  Perhaps  we've  hardly  time  at  present  to  do 
the  subject  justice.  And  now,  once  for  all,  will  you 
grant  my  request  ?" 

"Why,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,  seein' it's  jv<?z^,"  replied 
Joe  ;  "  but  first  I'll  go  and  see  Miss  Percival,  and  tell 
her  you  want  to  see  her.  By  the  time  I  git  back  it'll 
be  dark,  and  you  can  git  in  without  bein'  seen,  and 
everything  will  go  off  smoothly." 

**  That's  a  good  boy !"  said  Elva  approvingly. 
**  Maybe  I  won't  write  to  Glory  Ann  one  of  these 
days,  and  tell  her  what  a  nice  fellow  she's  going  to 
get.  Hurry  up  now,  and  I'll  wait  here  till  you  come 
back." 

So  saying,  Elva  seated  herself  on  the  fallen  tree, 
and  watched  honest  Joe,  as  he  shuffled  slowly  out  of 
sight,  and  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

An  hour  passed,  and  Joe  had  not  make  his  appear- 
ance. A  deep  gloom  was  settling  around,  the  dark 
pines  swayed  solemnly  to  and  fro  in  the  night  breeze. 
There  was  no  light  save  that  of  the  radiant  stars  ; 
no  sound  save  that  of  the  wind  and  the  cry  of  the 
katy-did.  The  silence  was  almost  painful,  as  Elva 
sat  wild  with  impatience.  At  length,  as  she  was 
about  to  despair  of  his  coming  at  all,  a  familiar  voice 
at  her  ear  startled  her  with  the  expressive  phrasft  ; 

"  Here  we  is  !" 


PLOTTING. 


189 


"  Oh  !  Joe,  is  it  you  ?  I  thought  you  would  never 
come.  Well,  can  I  see  her  ?"  she  exclaimed,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Yes'm  ?  I've  'ranged  everything  beautifully.  I'll 
go  back  to  the  house,  and  you  steal  round  to  the 
side-door  you  was  speaking  of,  and  I'll  let  you  in. 
That's  the  way  !" 

And  each  took  a  different  path,  both  leading  to  the 
old  house. 

The  side-door  spoken  of  had  long  been  unused, 
and  was  almost  hidden  by  vines  and  shrubs.  Forc- 
ing her  way  through  these,  Elva  waited  until  she 
heard  the  key  turn  in  the  rusty  lock.  Pushing  open 
the  door,  she  entered  a  long,  dark  hall,  where  she 
beheld  Joe  standing,  lamp  in  hand. 

"Here  take  this,"  said  Joe,  handing  her  the  light. 
"  I  s'pose  you  know  the  way  up  to  the  room  better'n 
I  can  show  you.  I'll  be  about  here  and  wait,  and 
let  you  out." 

"  You're  a  darling  !"  exclaimed  Elva,  as  she  almost 
flew  up  a  long,  winding  staircase.  "How  I  wish  I 
was  Glory  Ann  Lazybones  to  get  such  a  prize  as 
you."  And  with  a  merry  laugh,  she  vanished  amid 
the  gloom,  while  Joe  gazed  after  her  with  a  look  of 
decided  admiration. 

Reaching  the  well-known  chamber  of  the  prisoner, 
she  tapped  at  the  door.  A  low  voice  bade  her  enter, 
and  witlidrawing  the  bolts,  she  passed  into  the  room. 

Edith  sat  by  the  table,  her  head  leaning  on  her 
hand,  her  bright  golden  hair  falling  like  a  vail  over 
her  pale,  sweet  face.  She  looked  up  as  Elva  entered, 
and  approached  with  extended  aands. 

Elva  was  shocked  beyond  measure  by  the  change 
those  few  days  had  made.  The  face  of  Edith,  always 
fair,  seemed  now  perfectly  transparent,  the  deep-blue 


190 


PLOTTING. 


3U>! 


eyes  had  grown  dim  and  heavy  with  constant  weep- 
ing. A  long  illness  could  hardly  have  changed  her 
more  than  those  miserable  days  and  sleepless  nights, 
albeit  she  was  not  used  to  "  tears  by  night  instead  of 
slumber." 

"  My  dear  Elva,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again  !" 
said  Edith,  pressing  the  young  girl's  hands  in  her 
own. 

*'  The  pleasure  is  mutual,  my  dear  Miss  Percival. 
But  how  pale  and  thin  you  are  looking  !  Have  you 
been  sick  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly  sick  ;  but  I  have  been  sick  in 
body  and  mind.  Oh,  Elva  !  how  could  I  be  other- 
wise in  this  dreadful  place  ?" 

*'  Very  true  !"  said  Elva,  sadly,  "  and  your  friends, 
are  they  still  here,  or  has  De  Disle — " 

"  No,  no  !"  interrupted  Edith,  hurriedly,  "  not  yet ! 
But  when  he  returns — .  Oh,  Elva,  Elva !  pray 
Heaven  I  may  die  before  that  dreadful  time." 

'*  Not  so.  Miss  Percival.  You  shall  live  and  be 
happy  in  spite  of  all  the  De  Lisles  that  ever  cheated 
the  hangman  !"  exclaimed  Elva.  **  We'll  see  if 
woman's  wit  is  not  more  than  a  match  for  man's 
cunning.  De  Lisle  will  not  return,  father  says,  until 
the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  and  when  he  does  come 
back  and  find  his  bird  has  flown  away  from  her  cage 
during  his  absence,  won't  there  be  a  scene  ?  Whew  ! 
it  will  be  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  him  !"  And  Elva 
clapped  her  hands  in  delight. 

"  Elva  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  do  not  under- 
stand," said  Edith,  looking  bewildered. 

"  Why,  you  shall  make  your  escape  to-morrow 
night— that's  the  talk  !  When  everybody  is  sleeping, 
I'll  come  here,  fasten  a  rope-ladder  to  your  window 
— climb    up — iron  grating's  old — easily  taken  off — 


PLOTTING. 


191 


you'll  get  down — make  a  moonlight  flitting — and 
before  morning  dawns,  you'll  be  over  the  hills  and 
far  awav  !" 

Edith  caught  her  breath  at  the  vision  thus  con- 
jured up.  But  a  moment's  reflection  banished  the 
bright  hopes  Elva's  words  had  recalled  to  her  heart. 

"  My  cousin,  my  brother,  and — their  friend,  how 
can  I  go  and  leave  them  here  in  the  power  of  De 
Lisle  ?     Oh,  Elva  !  I  cannot  go  !" 

"  Bother  !"  exclaimed  Elva,  impatiently.  "  What 
good  can  your  staying  here  do  them  ?  Will  it  help 
them  any  you  marrying  De  Lisle,  as  you  will  most 
assuredly  have  to  do,  if  you  wait  until  he  comes 
back.  If  they  really  care  for  you,  will  it  not  render 
them  far  more  miserable  than  anything  they  may 
have  themselves  to  suffer  ?  Whereas,  if  you  escape, 
you  may  yet  rescue  them  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  you  can 
at  least  let  the  world  know  what  a  villain  he  is,  and 
have  the  comfort  of  letting  the  world  see  him  dance 
on  nothing.  Stay  here,  indeed !  Nonsense,  Miss 
Percival  !  I  beg  your  pardon  for  saying  so,  but  the 
idea  is  perfectly  absurd." 

Edith's  feelings  always  caught  its  tone  and  impetus 
from  whoever  chanced  to  be  with  her.  Now  some 
of  the  daring  spirit  that  glowed  on  the  cheeks  and 
flashed  in  the  eyes  of  Elva  animated  her  own  heart, 
as  she  raised  her  head  and  said  firmly  : 

*•  Be  it  so,  then,  kindest,  best  of  friends.  I  shall 
make  the  attempt  ;  if  I  succeed,  I  shall  at  least  be 
spared  the  wretched  doom  of  becoming  the  wife  of 
one  I  detest ;  if  I  fail,  my  fate  can  be  no  worse  than 
it  is  now." 

"  Fail !"  echoed  Elva,  cheerily.  "  In  my  vocabul- 
ary, there  is  no  such  word  as  fail.  No,  you  will  live 
and  laugh  at  De  Lisle  yet." 


1  i  iiJ 


;| 

,   i, , , 

.; 

1 

; 

1  vil 

192 


THE    ESCAPE. 


**  That  s  the  chat  !"  exclaimed  a  voice  that  made 
them  both  start  ;  and  turning  round  in  alarm,  they 
beheld  the  shock  head  of  Master  Joe  protruded 
through  the  half-open  door. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE   ESCAPE. 


«( 


The  lovely  stranger  stands  confessed 
A  maid  in  all  her  charms." — Goldsmith. 


"  Thai's  the  chat  !"  again  repeated  the  worthy 
youth,  as,  seeing  he  was  discovered,  he  walked  in 
and  coolly  took  a  seat. 

"  Oh,  Joe  !  my  dear  ]oe  I  you  will  not  betray  us  ?" 
exclaimed  Elva,  while  Edith  sat  in  silent  dismay. 

"  Don't  know  'bout  that  ;"  replied  Joe.  "  'Tain't 
fair  to  be  cheatin'  the  boss  in  this  fashion.  La  !  how 
nicely  I  caught  you  that  time  !"  and  evidently  highly 
delighted  at  the  recollection,  he  leaned  back  and 
laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Joe  !  you  won't  tell,  will  you  ?"  pleaded  Elva. 
"  How  would  you  like  now  if  Glory  Ann  was  a 
prisoner  and  wanted  to  escape,  somebody  hindered 
her  ?  Just  think  what  a  heartrending  case  that 
would  be,  and  let  off." 

"Wall,  now,  I  don't  know's  I'd  care.  I's  gettin* 
sorter  tired  of  Glory  Ann  !"  said  Joe,  coolly. 

"  Unfaithful  youth  !"  exclaimed  Elva,  in  a  voice 
of  horror.  *'  Poor,  deserted  Glory  Ann.  But  since 
that  fails  to  move  you.  Miss  Percival's  father  is  very 


THB   ESCAPE. 


193 


rich,  and  if  you  help  her  to  escape,  your  fortune  Is 
made." 

"  Go  to  grass  !'"  indignantly  exclaimed  Mr.  Smith. 
"  What  d'ye  s'pose  I  care  'bout  his  money  ?  No'm  ; 
if  you  hain't  somethin'  better  to  propose  than  that, 
I'll  blab  !" 

^*  What  can  I  offer?"  said  poor  Elva  in  despair. 
"Just  mention  something  yourself  Joe,  and  if  it's  in 
my  power  you  shall  have  it." 

"  There's  one  thing,"  said  Joe,  meditatively. 

"  Name  it  ! — name  it  I"  exclaimed  Elva,  im- 
patiently. 

**  It's  very  easy,  too,  though  I  never  thought  of  it 
afore,"  went  on  Joe,  in  the  same  slow,  thoughtful 
tone. 

**  Name  it  ! — ftame  itT  exclaimed  the  impatient 
Elva. 

"  Yes.  I  don't  care  'bout  Glory  Ann,  there's  no 
mistake  in  that.  Red  hair's  common,  and  I  guess  I'll 
take  to  some  other  color,"  continued  Joe,  seriously, 
without  lifting  his  eyes  off  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  you  wretch  !  You  provoking  creature  ! 
V'ou  stupid  old  thing  you  !  Will  yo\i  tell  me  what 
it  is  !"  and  Elva,  losing  all  patience,  shook  him  so 
soundly,  that  poor  Joe  looked    up  quite  astonished. 

"Hey?  What's  the  matter?  Oh,  you  want  to 
know  what  it  is,  do  you  ?  Wall,  ye  see,  I've  got 
kinder  tired  o'  Glory  Ann,  as  I  sed,  and  I'd  like  a 
change  ;  so  I'll  help  the  young  lady  to  run  off,  if — " 

Joe  paused  and  looked  doubtfully  at  Elva. 

"Well :  if  what  ?"  reiterated  that  young  lady. 

"  If  you'll  marry  me  !"  exclaimed  Joe,  like  a  man 
of  honor,  coming  to  the  point  at  once. 

"Done!"  exclaimed  Elva;  "there's  my  hand  on 
it.    Who'll  say,  after  this,  I  haven't  had  a  proposal  ?" 


194 


THE   ESCAPE. 


I    i 


And  Elva  cast  a  glance  toward  Edith  that,  in  spite 
of  herself,  brought  a  smile  to  the  face  of  the  latter. 

"You're  a  trump  !"  exultingly  exclaimed  Joe,  "  a 
regular  stunner  !  I  tell  you  what,  I'll  set  free  them 
three  coves  down  in  the  lower  regions  if  you  like. 
I  will,  by  gracious  !" 

With  an  exclamation  of  joy,  Edith  and  Elva  both 
sprang  forward  and  caught  each  a  hand  of  Joe,  who 
looked  a  little  surprised,  not  to  say  alarmed,  at  this 
sudden  attack. 

"Joe  dear,  you're  a  darling!"  exclaimed  Elva, 
"I'll marry  you  a  dozen  times  over  if  you  like  !" 

"  All  right  !"  said  Joe  ;  "and  now  that  the  courtin* 
part  o'  the  business  is  over,  s'pose  we  change  the 
subject.  Let's  see  :  to-morrow  night,  'bout  twelve 
be  ready,  and  if  we  don't  fix  'em,  it'll  be  a  caution  !" 

And  Joe  arose  to  leave. 

"  But,  Joe,  won't  you  tell  us  what  you  intend  to 
do  ?"  said  Elva  ;  "  just  consider  I'm  your  better  half 
now,  and  have  a  right  to  know." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  marm.  I'll  tell  you  after- 
wards," replied  Joe;  "and  now  I  shouldn't  be 
s'prised  if  'twas  time  for  you  to  go.  To-morrer 
night,  'bout  this  time,  come  round  to  the  side-door, 
and  I'll  let  you  in,  so's  to  be  ready  to  start  with 
us."  ' 

Elva  laughed,  and  with  a  cheerful  gopd-night 
turned  to  follow  him,  leaving  Edith  with  a  more 
hopeful  look  on  her  face  than  she  had  worn  for  many 
a  day. 

The  following  day,  Joe  did  not  appear  until  nearly 
noon,  when  he  informed  Edith  that  he  had  told  her 
friends  of  their  plan,  and  that  they  were  "  tickled  to 
death  'bout  it."    To  all  her  anxious  inquiries  as  to 


<( 


»'» 


THE   ESCAPE. 


195 


what  that  plan  was,  he  only  replied  by  telling  her  to 
"  hold  on  and  she'd  see  arter  a  spell." 

With  the  approach  of  night  came  Elva,  who  was 
silently  admitted  by  Joe  through  the  side-door,  and 
conducted  to  Edith's  apartment.  There  that  worthy 
youth  left  them,  after  many  charges  not  to  be  asleep 
when  he  called  for  them,  by-and-by. 

Hlva  knew  that  three  men  remained  each  night 
in  the  corridor  before  the  cells  of  the  prisoners, 
and  how  he  was  to  conduct  them  past  these  was  a 
mystery  she  could  not  solve.  Joe,  however,  turned 
a  deaf  ear  to  all  her  questions,  and  repeating  his 
command  to  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour,  left 
them  to  themselves. 

Passing  through  the  many  halls  and  passages,  and 
staircases,  Joe  at  length  reached  the  opposite  end 
of  the  house,  and  entered  a  spacious  sitting-room, 
where  nearly  a  dozen  men  were  seated  round  a  long 
tal)le  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  singing,  shouting, 
telling  stories  and  vociferating  in  the  most  approved 
fashion.  At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Paul  Snowe, 
tlie  father  of  Elva,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  plot 
his  audacious  little  daughter  was  weaving  to  free  his 
prisoners. 

"Hi,  there  !  Mrs.  Smith  !  Where  the  deuce  have 
you  been  all  evening  ?"  called  a  flashy  looking  indi- 
vidual, known  as  Dandy  Dan  ;  **  I  believe,  in  my 
soul,  the  tow-headed  scoundrel  is  forever  making  love 
to  Lady  Beauty  above  stairs." 

"  Come  here,  Mrs.  Smith,  my  dear,"  said  another, 
"  the  jug's  empty,  and  Nan  Crow's  asleep.  Be  off  to 
the  kitchen  and  fill  it,  and  here's  your  good  health, 
ma'am. 

With  a  smothered  growl,  which  elicited  a  shout  of 
laughter,  Joe  took  the  huge  earthen  jar  which  stood 


196 


THE   ESCAPE. 


in  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  set  oflf  on  the  errand. 
Filling  it  from  a  large  cask  wiiich  stood  in  the 
kitchen,  he  drew  a  bottle  from  his  pocket  containing 
a  colorless  liquid,  and  emptied  its  contents  into  the 
Jamaica  rum.  A  smile  of  triumph  flitted  over  his 
face,  which  was,  however,  changed  to  one  of  sulky 
stupidity,  as  he  again  stood  before  the  revellers, 
panting  under  his  load. 

•*  Good  boy,  Joe  !"  said  Dandy  Dan,  helping  him 
to  lift  the  jar  on  the  table  ;  "  has  your  mother  any 
more  like  you." 

"  Yes,  thar's  lots  on  'em  to  hum,  but  none  so  smart 
as  me,"  said  Joe,  in  a  tone  of  artless  simplicity. 

"You're  a  genius,  Joe.  Pity  tliey  didn't  make  a 
lawyer  of  you  !" 

"  No,  sir,  none  o*  our  family  ever  fell  so  low  as  that 
yet,"  said  Joe,  in  a  tone  of  offended  pride  ;  "  mother 
was  to  law  once  and  I  never  wants  to  know  no  more 
'bout  it." 

"  And  what  sent  the  old  lady  to  law  ?"  inquired 
Paul  Snowe. 

"  Wall,  'twas  'bout  our  cow.  Our  cow  and  mother 
and  two  other  cows  was  out,  and  she  kicked  the 
minister." 

"Who  did?    Your  mother?" 

"  No,  the  cow.  He  was  goin'  'long,  and  she  took 
to  jawin'  him  'bout  somethin'  she  didn't  like  in  his 
sermon." 

"  The  cow  did  ?" 

"  No,  mother.  So  he  comes  over  to  'xplain  and  he 
leaned  agin  her  and  taks  to  smootiiin'  down  her 
back." 

*'  Smoothing  your  mother's  back  ?" 

**  No,  the  cow's.     But  she  wasn't  goin'  to  take  none 


THE   ESCAPE. 


197 


h 


o'  his  blarney,  so  she  jist  turned  up  her  nose  and  told 
him  to  goto  pot." 

"The  cow  told  him  so?" 

"No,  mother  !  But  he  took  to  arguin'  so  at  last 
forgetting  he  wasn't  in  thepuipit,  he  brought  his  fist 
down  with  an  almighty  thump  on  her  back." 

"  On  your  mother's  back." 

"  No,  darn  ye,  on  the  cow's  !  So  havin'  a  spirit  of  her 
own  that  wouldn't  put  up  with  sich  insults,  she  lifts 
up  her  hind  leg  and  gave  him  a  kick." 

"Your  mother  did  ?" 

"  No,  blame  you,  the  cow  !  By  gracious  I  won't 
stand  to  hear  the  old  woman  insulted  this  way  !" 
exclaimed  Joe,  indignantly. 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed,  during  which  Joe  stood 
looking  savagely  from  one  to  the  other,  and  at  last 
turned  away  in  evident  disgust. 

'*  I  say,  Joe  !  don't  leave  us,  man  I"  called  Paul 
Snowe  ;  "  tell  us  what  happened  to  your  mother  and 
the  other  cow  ?" 

"  Find  out !"  said  Joe,  shortly.  "  What's  the  use 
o'  tellin'  a  story  when  you're  too  stupid  to  understand 
it  ?  I  wouldn't  tell  you  another  word  if  you  was  to 
bust !"  And  with  this  spirited  announcement,  the 
young  gentleman  gave  his  pantaloons  an  indignant 
hitch,  and  repaired  to  the  kitchen. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  the  uproar  grew  "fast 
and  furious."  Joe  listened  with  a  smile  and  a  mut- 
tered "  it  will  soon  be  over,"  and  patiently  "bided 
his  time." 

Gradually,  the  noise  died  away.  Now  and  then 
a  heavy  sound  would  be  heard,  as  one  of  the  drunken 
revellers  fell  prostrate  on  the  floor,  and  a  long-drawn 
snore  betrayed  his  profoundly  drunken  sleep.  Joe 
went  in  softly.     Lying  under  the  table,  and  in  vari- 


VJS 


THE    ESOAI'E. 


I      I, 


:    I 


ous  directions  through  the  room,  were  De  Lisle's 
gallant  band.  Paul  Snow  lay  back  in  his  seat,  his 
head  down  on  his  breast,  sleeping  as  profoundly  as 
the  rest. 

Joe  seized  the  jar,  considerably  lighter  now,  and 
repaired  with  it  in  the  direction  were  the  prisoners 
were  confined.  Leaning  against  the  walls,  half 
asleep,  were  the  remaining  three  who  had  been  left 
to  guard  them. 

"  Who  comes  ?"  cried  one  of  the  sentinels,  opening 
his  sleepy  eyes. 

"Only  me,  Ben — Joe  Smith.  The  other  chaps 
drunk  theirselves  asleep,  and  I  brought  the  jar  here, 
thinking  you  might  like  the  rest." 

"Thanky,  Joe  ;  may  you  never  die  till  your  time 
comes,"  said  tiie  man,  as  he,  together  with  his  com- 
panions, gathered  around  the  jug. 

"  Don't  see  any  reason  why  them  coves  upstairs 
should  have  all  the  fun  to  themselves,"  said  the 
other,  taking  a  long  draught. 

*'That  was  my  notion  exactly,"  said  Joe. 

"  Prime  that  !"  said  the  third,  smacking  his  lips. 
"Joe,  you  deserve  to  be  made  an  archbishop  of." 

Joe  took  the  compliment  with  all  humility,  and 
looked  with  delight  at  their  eagerness  to  empty  the 
jug.  Very  soon  its  effects  became  apparent,  for  the 
three  worthy  sentinels  lay  stretched  at  full  length, 
as  sound  asleep  as  their  companions  upstairs. 

Joe  arose  softly,  and  taking  the  keys  from  the 
belt  of  one,  then  opened  the  nearest  door,  and  Fred 
Stanley  stepped  forth.  He  then  noiselessly  opened 
the  other  two,  and  Nugent  Percival  and  Gus  made 
their  appearance. 

Joe  made  a  motion  for  them  to  be  silent,  and  lift- 
ing the  lamp,  beckoned  them  to  follow.     With  noise- 


I 

1 


/' 


le's 


THB   RSOAPB. 


199 


less  step  they  obeyed,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  they 
stood  in  the  cool  night  air,  free  once  more. 

"  Wait  here  a  minute,"  said  Joe,  when  they  arrived 
before  the  useful  littie  side-door,  as  he  opened  it  and 
disappeared. 

"That  small  youth  is  worth  his  weight  in  dia- 
monds," remarked  Gus,  as  Joe  disappeared. 

"  He  reminds  me  strangely  of  some  one  I've  seen 
before,"  said  Percival  ;  "  but  whom  I  cannot  recol- 
lect." 

"Just  fancy  De  Lisle's  disappointment  when  he 
comes  back,  losing  his  prisoners  and  his  bride  !  Eh, 
Stanley  ?"  said  Gus. 

"What?"  said  Fred,  rousing  with  a  start  from  a 
dream  of  Edith. 

"Ah  !  I  fancy  I  know  where  your  thoughts  were 
that  time,"  said  Gus,  while  Percival  smiled  slightly, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Joe,  re-appearing,  followed 
by  Edith,  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak,  and  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  Elva. 

There  was  but  little  time  for  congratulations. 
As  the  whole  party  passed  through  the  gate,  Joe 
gave  Elva  a  nudge  in  the  ribs,  saying,  in  a  very  audi- 
ble whisper  : 

"  S'posin'  you  and  me  goes  and  gets  spliced  right 
off  !    Where's  the  use  losin'  time  ?" 

"Thank  you  ;  I  guess  I  won't  mind  it  just  now  !** 
said  Elva,  laughing  and  blushing,  as  she  caught  the 
dark  eye  of  young  Percival  fixed  upon  her  with  a 
look  of  decided  amusement. 

"  We  part  here,  then,"  said  Joe,  extending  his 
hand.  "  Good-bye,  Elva.  Have  you  no  message  to 
send  to  Glory  Ann  ?" 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  he  had  suddenly  lost  his 


T 


200 


THE   JOURNEY   HOME. 


*    i 


■  ,1 


peculiar  nasal  twang.  Fred,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing him  earnestly,  came  forward,  and  laying  his 
hand  on  Joe's  siioulder.  said  : 

"  Further  disguise  is  unnecessary,     I  know  you  /" 
Joe  laughed,  and  colored  slightly,  as  he  lifted  his 
cap  and  removed  his  wig,  and  in  spite  of  the  dye  on 
his  face,  they  beheld  and  recognized  the  merry  face 
and  Dlack  eyes  of  Nell  FercivaU 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    JOURNEY     HOME. 

*•  Oh.  she  is  a  shrewd  one ! — as  keen  as  a  briar  i 
Though  her  lips  pout  with  love,  it  can  curl  with 
disdain  ; 
And  her  eye,  now  so  soft,  can  shoot  quivering  fire. 
Ah!  she's  a  shrewd  one!" — J.  W.  H. 

"  Nell  I  by  all  that's  glorious  I"  exclaimed  Gus. 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  ejaculated  Edith,  almost  trans- 
fixed with  amazement. 

"  I  thought  I  had  heard  that  voice  before,"  said 
Nugent,  scarcely  less  astonished. 

•'  Is  she  a  girl  or  a  boy  ?"  said  Elva,  turning  from 
one  to  the  other,  completely  bewildered. 

**A  girl,  my  dear,  a  girl  !"  said  Nell,  gayly ;  "and 
I  hope  you  won't  forget  you've  promised  to  marry 
me.  rf  you  do,  why  then  I'll  call  you  out,  and  we'll 
have  pistols  before  coffee,  as  sure  as  shooting." 

"  But  Glory  Ann,"  said  Elva. 

"Ah,  yes — poor  thing  I     But  we  won't  pursue  the 


V     '. 


THE  JOUBNBY   HOME. 


201 


itch- 
his 

/" 

I  his 
e  on 
face 


ins- 


laid 


om 


and 
rry 
e'll 


the 


»t 


iiarrowing  subject  just  now,  having  no  time  to  lose, 
said  Nell.  Then,  lowering  her  voice,  she  added, 
hurriedly :  "  Can  you  give  me  other  garments.  I 
don't  wish — that  is — " 

"Oh,  to  be  sure  !"  interrupted  Elva  ;  "we  will 
help  ourselves  to  horses  from  De  Lisle's  stables,  and 
you  can  come  home  with  me  while  the  rest  wait  in 
the  forest.     We  won't  be  long." 

A  few  minutes  saw  them  on  their  way — Nell  and 
Elva  far  ahead  of  the  rest. 

"  We  had  better  wait  for  them  here,"  said  Percival, 
suddenly  halting. 

"  Who  would  ever  think  Nell  so  clever  !"  said  Gus, 
in  a  tone  of  delight. 

"  Seeing  that  cleverness  does  not  gener  uly  run  in 
our  family,"  said  Nugent,  laughing. 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  I'd  never  imagine  it.  She  visited 
me,  daily,  too,  and  I  gave  her  a  decided  blowing  up 
once  or  twice,"  said  Gus. 

"She  told  me  of  that,"  said  Edith,  smiling,  "  and 
seemed  quite  indignant  about  it." 

**  I  say,  Edith,  who  is  that  pretty  little  dear  she 
has  gone  off  with  ?"  inquired  Percival. 

"Why,  it's  Elvena  Snowe,  the  daughter  of  one  of 
De  Lisle's  men,  for  whose  unfailing  kindness  I  shall 
>ever  be  grateful,"  replied  Edith. 

"  I  hope  we  will  not  be  kept  here  much  longer," 
said  Gus.  "  Had  I  not  better  ride  forward  and  meet 
them  ?" 

"  Meet  theml — meet  Nell,  you  mean," said  Percival, 
laughing. 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Fred,  whose  quick  ear  had 
caught  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  in  the  distance. 

In  a  few  moments  more,  the  young  girls  rode  up. 
Nell  arrayed  in  a  neatly-fitting  riding  habit  of  Elva's 


■!i 


V 


m 


202 


THE  JOURNEY   HOME. 


— the  bright  face  flushed  a  little,  now  that  the  paint 
was  off,  as  they  could  see  even  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  have  coaxed  Elv.  to  come  back  and  bid  you  all 
good-bye,"  said  Nell.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ? — she 
actually  did  not  wish  to  come  !" 

"  You  would  not  have  treated  us  that  way,  dear 
Elva  !"  said  Edith,  kissing  her  fair  brow.  "  How  I 
wish  you  could  come  home  with  us  altogether  !" 

"  Yes,  do,  Elva ;  we'll  have  such  glorious  times  ; 
you,  and  I,  and — Glory  Ann  !'*  coaxed  Nell. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Elva,  almost  sadly  ;  "  but  I  hope 
to  see  you  all  once  more.  You  had  better  hasten 
now — delay  is  dangerous." 

The  adieux  were  hastily  spoken.  Waving  her 
hand  in  a  last  farewell,  Elva  turned  and  rode  off 
down  the  forest  path. 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  during  which  the 
party  gained  the  high  road — Nell  in  advance, 
between  Gus  and  her  brother,  and  Fred  and  Edith 
following  rapidly. 

"  And  now,  Nell,  tell  us  about  this  strange  affair 
of  your  masquerade,"  said  Gus,  at  length. 

**  Well,  it's  nothing  to  make  a  fuss  about,"  said 
Nell.  •*  I  suppose  I  needn't  tell  you  that  when  you 
went  off  that  day,  you  didn't  come  back  as  we 
expected.  Papa  was  away,  and  mamma  was  mak- 
ing a  great  time  about  it.  I  tried  to  cheer  her  up, 
but  'twas  all  of  no  use  ;  she  insisted  the  whole  four 
of  you  were  comfortably  located  in  Abraham's 
bosom." 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  we  came  pretty  near  it,"  said 
Gus. 

"  Well,  the  day  passed,  and  none  of  you  came. 
Mamma  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  to  be  sure,  and  some 
of  her  friends  came  to  visit  and  console  her.     I  knew 


THE  JOUBNEY   HOMB. 


203 


she  wodldn't  want  me,  with  so  many  to  look  after 
her,  so  I  asked  and  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  a 
week  or  two,  and  as  I  was  always  fond  of  adventure, 
I  determined,  like  a  second  Don  Quixote,  to  go  off 
in  search  of  you." 

"  Bravo  !  Nell,"  exclaimed  Percival. 

"  I  knew  how  to  find  the  old  house,  and  felt  pretty 
sure  Edith  was  there,  at  least,  though  I  confess  I  had 
my  doubts  whether  you  three  had  not  been  sent  to 
'kingdom  come.*  I  determined  to  disguise  myself  ; 
and,  having  colored  my  face,  and  procured  that 
horrid  tow  wig,  I  dressed  myself  in  a  suit  of  clothes 
procured  for  the  occasion.  Before  venturing  into 
the  power  of  De  Lisle,  I  determined  to  see  if  any 
one  would  recognize  me,  and  I  actually  chatted  for 
an  hour  with  mamma,  about  the  farm  "  to  hum," 
and  "  Glory  Ann  Lazybones,"  withou-t  t>eing  recog- 
nized. So,  of  course,  I  knew  my  disguise  wa*  per- 
fect ;  and  I  came,  saw,  conquered.     That's  all  !** 

"My  Jove  !  Nell,"  cried  Gus,  delightedly,  "  you're 
a—" 

"  What  ?"  said  Nell. 

"A  regular  stunner  !"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  I  consider  that  anything  but  a  compli- 
meit,"  said  Nell ;  "and  rest  assured,  Master  Gus,  I 
should  never  have  taken  the  trouble  of  going  there 
to  save  you — but  as  it  was  just  the  same  to  take  you 
along  with  the  rest,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  do  it. 
Being  wonderfully  amiable,  I'm  always  willing  to 
oblige  people  when  it's  no  trouble  to  myself  !" 

Conversing  g^yly  thus,  they  rode  along  until  the 
red  hue  of  coming  morn   appeared  in  the  east. 

"Fred  and  Edith  seem  to  have  quite  a  nice  time 
of  it  behind  there,"  said  Nell,  looking  back  ;  "  I  expect 
they're  saying  a  lot  of  pretty  things  to  one  another." 


'  1 
't' 


m- 


ii 


I      d 


i;  i    I 


!i 


204 


THE  JOUBNEY  HOME. 


"Suppose  we  follow  their  example,"  said  Gus. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  dg  tropy'  observed  Percival,  smiling. 

"  Here  they  come  !"  said  Nell  ;  "  wonder  if  they 
overheard  us." 

At  this  moment  Fred  and  Edith  rode  rapidly  up. 
The  keen  dark  eyes  of  Nell  saw  in  a  moment  that 
her  sister  had  been  weeping,  and  that  Fred  looked 
unusually  flushed  and  agitated. 

Lifting  his  hat  to  Nell,  he  said,  briefly. 

"  We  part  here,  I  believe.  Allow  me  to  bid  you 
farewell." 

"  What !  going  to  leave  us  ?"  exclaimed  Gus  and 
Percival — while  Nell,  completely  astonished,  silently 
retained  his  hand,  and  Edith  bent  her  head  still 
lower  to  hide  her  falling  tears. 

"  Yes,  I  must  be  at  N ,  to-morrow,"  answered 

Fred. 

*'  But  I  thought  you  were  coming  home  with  us," 
said  Percival. 

"  I  regret  I  cannot  do  so.  My  presence  here  is  no 
longer  required,  and   business   obliges  me  to  go  to 

N .     Good-bye,  Miss  Ellen,"  he  added,  with    a 

smile,  "give  my  best  wishes  to  Glory  Ann.  Fare- 
well Percival.  Gus,  when  shall  I  expect  to  see  you  ?" 

*•  Let's  see,  a  week  at  the  furthest,"  replied  Gus. 

"Very  well !  Until  then,  au  rtwoir  J  Adieu,  Miss 
Percival." 

Her  lips  moved,  but  her  reply  was  not  audible,  as 
she  took  in  hers  the  hand  extended.  The  next 
moment  he  was  galloping  rapidly  off  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

"  Now,  that's  what  I  call  real  mean  of  him,"  said 
Nell,  pouting,  "  to  go  ofiE  and  leave  us  that  way.  I 
don't  care  if  he  was  twice  as  handsome  as  he  is,  I 


THE  JOUBNBT   HOME. 


205 


wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with  such  a   fiery- 
headed  fellow  for  any  possible  inducement." 

"  Very  flad  to  hear  it,  my  dear,"  said  Gus. 

"Well,  then,  you  needn't  be,  my  dear!  For 
indeed,  I'd  no  more  have  you  than  him." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Nell,  you  don't  mean  it  !" 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Gus,  I  do  mean  it  !  And  I'd 
thank  you  not  to  be  so  confident  that  I'm  dying 
about  you,  for  the  future.  If  I  choose  to  amuse 
myself  flirting  with  you,  for  want  of  any  one  else, 
you're  not  to  imagine  I  care  one  pin  for  you,  I'd  have 
you  know." 

"  My  dear  Nell,  if  I  thought  you  were  serious,  I'd 
take  up  the  first  broken  ramrod  I  could  find,  and 
blow  my  brains  out." 

"My  dear  Gus,  you  can  do  as  you  please  ;  only  as 
you  happen,  unfortunately,  to  have  no  brains,  I  don't 
see  how  you're  going  to  blow  them  out.  Seems  to 
me,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  try  to  blow  a  few  /«*  instead 
of  blowing  them  out." 

"  Nell,  be  serious." 

"  Gus,  I  am  serious,  awfully  serious,  as  you'll  find 
out  to  your  cost." 

"  I  know  you  just  do  this  to  torment  me,  you  little 
vixen.  But  do  try  and  be  good-natured  for  once, 
Nell,  you  know  I  must  leave  you  in  a  day  or  two, 
*  and  be  off  to  the  wars  again.*  " 

"  Dear  knows,  I'll  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  you,"  said 
Nell,  in  all  sincerity. 

Gus  looked  hurt,  so  much  so,  that  Nell  looked  up, 
and  exclaimed  : 

"  There  !  gracious  me  !  you  needn't  look  so  sulky 
about  it.  Of  course,  I'll  be  glad  when  you  go  off, 
for  all  my  other  friends  of  the  masculine  persuasion 
were  afraid   to  pay  me  the  slightest  attention,  lest 


.    ! 


1  ' 

1 

i'     i    ^ 

i 
1 

1 

•'      ■  ;  !       '1 

1 

iil  4 

206 


THB  JOUBNEY  HOME. 


they  should  be  wasting  their  'sweetness  on  the 
desert  air,'  that  is  to  say,  on  somebody  else's  prop- 
erty. And  I'll  tell  you  what  you'll  do,  Gus,"  she 
added,  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  "  go 
off  and  try  if  you  can't  captivate  Elva  Snowe.  She's 
a  nice  little  thing,  and  almost  as  pretty  as  I." 

"I'd  rather  have  you,  Nell." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  ;  but  you  see  you  can't  have  me, 
Gus.  It  is  not  everybody  in  this  vale  of  tears  can  get 
such  a  prize  as  I  am  (not  to  be  egotistical).  Well,dear 
me  !  (to  change  the  subject)  won't  this  be  an  adven- 
ture to  talk  of.  Why,  I  don't  believe  one  of  your 
wonderful  Lady  Aramintas  in  the  romances  could 
have  done  it  better." 

"  Nor  half  so  well,  my  dear." 

"I  always  had  an  immense  respect  for  Joan  of 
Arc,"  went  on  Nell,  "  but  I'll  begin  to  admire  my- 
self after  I  perform  two  or  three  more  wonderful 
deeds  of  arms.  How  hot  it  is  !  Poor  Edith  droops 
like  a  flower  wilted  in  the  sun." 

"  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  take  to  poetry,  Nell ; 
if  you  do — " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Gus  ;  I  have  too  much  respect 
for  the  feelings  of  my  family  to  be  guilty  of  such  a 
thing  ;  but  poor  Edith  does  look  dreadfully  used  up." 

**  There  is  an  inn  not  far  from  here,"  observed  Gus, 
**  I  think  we  can  procure  a  carriage  of  some  descrip- 
tion there,  that  will  convey  you  and  Edith  home. 
You  must  be  tired  too,  Nell." 

"Oh  !  not  a  bit.  I'm  never  tired,  but  we  must  try 
to  get  one  for  Edith.     Wait,  I'll  tell  her." 

Nell  drew  up,  and  waited  until  the  others  had 
reached  her,  then  in  a  few  words  she  communicated 
her  wishes  to  her  brother. 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  best,"  said  Percivai ;  "  Edith 


THE   JOURNEY    HOME. 


207 


>» 


does  look  worn  out.  How  far  is  the  inn  from  here, 
Gus  ?" 

**  Not  more  than  a  mile,"  replied  Gus,  "  we  will 
soon  reach  it." 

A  few  minutes  brought  them  to  it,  and  after  wait- 
ing for  breakfast,  they  rejiumed  their  journey,  Edith 
and  Nell  comfortably  seated  in  a  light  wagon,  with 
Gus  driving,  while  Nugent  galloped  on  to  announce 
the  news  at  home. 

There  was  a  joyful  meeting  at  Percival  Hall  that 
night.  Nell  was  decidedly  the  lion  of  the  evening, 
and  bore  her  honors  with  edifying  indifference. 
Major  Percival,  who  had  only  returned  a  few  hours 
before,  was  in  raptures,  and  declared  she  was  "every 
inch  a  Percival."  Mrs.  Percival  gazed  upon  her 
with  moistened  eyes  as  she  thought  of  the  narrow 
escape  of  her  children,  and  the  numerous  friends  of 
the  family  were  extravagant  in  their  eulogisms  of 
her  conduct. 

Edith  lay  on  the  sofa,  utterly  prostrated  in  body 
and  mind,  too  wearied  for  the  exertion  of  speaking 
and  with  her  eyes  shut,  she  listened,  while  her 
thoughts  were  far  away.  There  was  one  wanting  to 
make  that  family-circle  complete — one  whose  name 
all  avoided  mentioning. 

A  few  days  restored  Edith  to  her  wonted  health, 
again  a  soft  bloom  began  to  mantle  her  pale  cheek, 
and  her  blue  eyes  grew  bright  and  radiant  once 
more.  A  happy  circle  gathered  in  the  parlor  of  Per- 
cival Hall  each  evening — the  past  making  it  seem 
more  happy  by  contrast. 

But  leaving  the  inmates  of  Percival  HaU,  we  must 
follow  the  changing  fortunes  of  Fred  Stanley. 


208 


THE  hermit's   PBEDIOTION. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE   hermit's    prediction. 


"  My  heart  is  with  my  native  land 

My  song  is  for  her  glory ; 
Her  warriors'  wreath  is  in  my  hand; 

My  lips  breathe  out  her  story. 
Her  lofty  hills  and  valleys  green 

Are  smiling  bright  before  me, 
And  like  a  rainbow-sign  is  seen 

Her  proud  flag  waving  o'er  me. 

The  little  village  of  Grassfield  was  in  an  unusual 
state  of  excitement.  Groups  of  old  men,  boys,  and 
women  were  scattered  in  everj'^  direction,  talking 
over,  with  exultation,  the  latest  news  from  the  "seat 
of  war."  A  splendid  victory  had  been  gained  by 
the  American  troops,  the  news  of  which  had  just 
reached  Grassfield  ;  and  now  the  matter  was  being 
talked  over,  in  all  its  bearings,  by  the  delighted  vil- 
lagers. 

In  the  bar-room  of  the  **  Bottle  and  Bowl,"  the  one 
solitary  inn  which  the  village  contained,  was  assem- 
bled the  collective  wisdom  of  Grassfield.  The  host- 
ess, a  pretty  little  black-eyed  woman,  bustled  in  and 
out,  attending  to  her  guests,  occasionally  stopping 
to  glance  in  the  cradle  where  a  tiny  item  of  humanity 
lay,  with  wide  open  eyes,  making  desperate  exertions 
to  swallow  its  own  tiny  fists. 

The  unusual  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  rapidly 
along  the  street,  caused  the  whole  assembly  to  rush 
pell-mell  to  the  door.     The  horseman  drew  up,  and 


I 

I 


THE   HERMIT  8   PREDIC3TI0N. 


20^ 


consigning  the  animal  to  the  hostler,  passed  through 
the  gaping  crowd,  and  entered  the  bar-room. 

Pretty  Mis'  ess  Rosie,  the  liostess,  who  was  busily 
washing  glasses  beiiind  the  counter,  no  sooner 
beheld  liim,  than,  witli  an  exclamation  of  joy,  slie 
dropped  her  towel,  and  running  forward,  seized  him 
by  both  hands,  exclaiming  :  **  Why,  Mr.  Fred,  how 
do  you  do  ?  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  !  I  am  indeed  ! 
Where  have  you  been  this  long  time  ?  Fighting 
with  the  rest,  I  suppose  !  Well,  well,  who'd  have 
thought  it  ?  Sit  down,  sit  down  !  Well,  I  declare,  I 
am  glad.  Did  you  see  my  Josh,  lately  "i  No,  I  s'pose 
you  didn't  tliough,  or  he'd  mentioned  it.  He's  off, 
figi)ting  like  the  rest,  he  is  indeed  !  I  had  a  letter 
from  him  last  night ;  and  he  says  he's  quite  well, 
and  expects  to  be  home  soon.  Well,  this  is  a  surprise  ! 
Dear  me  ;  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.  But  sit  down, 
la  me  !  sit  down,  Mr.  Fred.  I  declare,  I've  kept  you 
standing  all  this  time  !" 

And  having  by  this  time  talked  herself  quite  out  of 
breath,  the  bustling  little  woman  danced  out  a  chair, 
and  flirting  her  apron  over  it  to  blow  off  the  dust, 
permitted  Fred  Stanley  (for  he  it  was)  to  sit  down. 

"  And  how  are  all  my  friends,  Mrs.  Wilde,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  for  yourself,  I  need  not  ask,  for  I  see 
you  are  looking  as  blooming  and  handsome  as  ever." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  lively  little  woman, 
"what  would  hinder  me  ?  All  your  friends  are  well, 
too,  and  Betsey  Higgins  is  married  to  the  tailor — 
you  remember  her,  don't  you  ?  the  little  milliner  that 
used  to  be  in  love  with  you.  There,  you  needn't  be 
laughing  now  ;  if  you  had  been  in  Betsey's  place,  I 
guess  you  wouldn't  see  anything  in  it  to  laugh  at. 
But,  bless  me  !  I  forgot  to  show  you  the  baby.     He's 


I,    Ji 

11' 


II 


5';;; 


I 


210 


THB  BBKMIT  a  PBEDIOTION. 


\M\ 


named  after  you,  too  ;  for  everybody  says  he's  your 
born  image." 

Fred  laughed,  as  he  glanced  down  at  the  little  fat, 
red  face,  framed  in  an  enormous  cap  frill.  Mrs. 
Wilde — evidently  delighted  at  the  striking  resem- 
blance between  the  tall  form,  and  dark,  handsome 
face  of  Fred,  and  the  little  blinking  atom,  his  name- 
sake— lifted  up  the  baby  and  deposited  him,  with  a 
jerk,  into  the  arms  of  Fred. 

"There  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilde,  folding  her  arms 
and  nodding  her  head  in  a  very  satisfied  manner, 
"  if  he  ain't  your  very  picter.  It  takes  after  you 
everyway,  too,  for  it's  the  quietest,  blessedest,  young 
one — " 

Here  a  loud,  shrill  yell  from  the  blessedest  young 
one  himself  interrupted  its  mamma's  eulogium. 
Fred,  who  seemed  rather  afraid  of  it  than  otherwise, 
glanced  appreheodingly  at  Mrs.  Rosie. 

"  Ah,  you  aggravatin'  little  monkey,  you  are,"  said 
that  lady,  snatching  it  from  Fred  with  one  hand  and 
giving  it  a  shake,  "  stop  that  yellln',  or  I'll  give  you 
such  a  spankin'  as  ye  never  had  in  all  your  born 
days.  There,  lie  in  that,  then,  if  you  won't,"  she 
added,  dropping  it  into  the  cradle,  and  leaving  it  to 
its  own  reflections. 

Baby,  who  seemed  quite  accustomed  to  this  kind 
of  treatment,  immediately  stopped  crying,  and  be- 
came so  absorbed  in  contemplating  its  own  little  fat 
fists  as  to  forget  all  minor  considerations. 

"  I  suppose,  Mr.  Fred,  you're  going  to  stay  all 
night  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wilde,  resuming  the  washing 
of  her  tumblers. 

"  I  rather  think  not,"  »aid  Fred,  doubtfully,  "  my 
horse  is  lame,  so  I  was  forced  to  come  here.  If  I 
find  he  is  well  enough  to  proceed,  I  will  go  on." 


THE  HBBMIT's  PBBDIOnON. 


911 


•If  not,  you'll  stay  ;  so  we  needn't  thank  you  for 
your  company,"  broke  in  the  little  hostess.  "  Hark! 
here's  somebody  else,  as  I  live  !  I  never  did  know 
one  to  come  unexpected,  but  another  was  sure  to 
follow.     Who's  this,  I  wonder  ?" 

The  wonder  was  speedily  solved,  for  a  young  man 
with  an  exceedingly  soldier-like  air  walked  the  next 
instant  into  the  bar-room. 

"Ah,  is  it  possible?  Captain  Rogers,  my  dear 
fellow,"  said  Fred,  springing  up,  and  extending  his 
hand. 

"  Stanley  !  What,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  wonder- 
ful, drove  you  here  ?"  exclaimed  the  new-comer  in 
surprise. 

*'  Where  did  you  expect  I  would  be  ?"  said  Fred, 
smiling  at  his  look  of  astonishment. 

"With  your  regiment,  to  be  sure  !  But  hold  on  ; 
I  haven't  seen  my  old  sweetheart  Rosie,  yet.  Ah  ! 
Rosie,  here  you  are,  as  pretty  as  ever,  I  see.  Why 
didn't  you  send  mean  invitation  to  the  wedding? 
Well,  never  mind,  it's  not  too  late  to  salute  the  bride 
yet !" 

A  sound  box  on  the  ear  was  his  reward,  while 
Mrs.  Rosie's  cheeks  grew  most  becomingly  red. 

"  What's  this  ?"  said  the  young  man,  who  bore  the 
little  woman's  indignation  with  most  exemplary 
coolness,  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  cradle — "  a  baby  ! 
La  !  what  a  comical  little  concern  !  I  say,  Rosie, 
you  don't  mean  to  say — " 

But  Rosie  who  wasn't  going  to  put  up  with  his 
impudence,  administered  another  box  on  the  ear 
with  no  very  gentle  hand  and  seizing  baby,  immedi- 
ately decamped. 

Captain  Rogers  looked  after  her  and  laughed. 

'*  Did  you  know,  Fred,  Rosie  and  I  kept  up  quite 


1! 

Ill 


212 


THE   BEKMIT  S  I'KEDICTION. 


a  spirited  flirtation  winter  before  last.  'Pon  my 
honor,  I  was  quite  spooney  about  lier  one  time,  too, 
but  Josh  Wilde  came  along  and  cut  me  out." 

"  I  never  knew  you  when  you  weren't  spooney 
about  some  one,"  said  Fred. 

"Oh  !  to  be  sure  !  there's  nothing  like  it.  Don't 
you  know  what  the  song  says  : 

•*  I  am  in  love  with  twenty , 

I  could  adore  as  many  more ; 
There's  nothing  like  a  plenty." 


]'< 


\    I 


■I 


"You  hardly  find  as  much  time  to  flirt  now,  as  you 
used  to,  I  fancy?"  said  Fred. 

"Why  no,  not  quite;  but  when  an  opportunity 
presents  itself,  I  always  improve  it.  By  the  way, 
Fred,  they  say  old  Percival  has  two  or  tliree  very 
pretty  daughters.  Pshaw  man  !  never  redden  so  ;  I 
intend  to  cultivate  the  old  gentleman  the  first  ciiance 
I  get,  for  the  sake  of  ma'amselle  Estelle — Edith — 
what's  her  name  ?" 

"You  may  spare  youself  the  trouble,  my  very  dear 
friend.     She  would  not  notice  you." 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  said  Captain  Rogers,  glancing 
at  the  mirror.  "Never  knew  a  female  heart  could 
resist  me  yet  !  But  nous  verrons  mon ami !  When  have 
you  seen  Ralph  De  Lisle  ?" 

Fred  started  at  the  name. 

"  Why,  what  of  him  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  Oh  !  nothing,  only  they  say  you've  cut  him  out 
there.  Serve  him  right,  too  ;  he's  an  infernal 
villain  !" 

"  Have  you  seen  him  lately  ?"  said  Fred,  biting  his 
lips  to  repress  his  impatience. 

"  Saw  him  yesterday   with  young   Bates,  out   oo 


I    ;i: 


THE  IIKBMIT  8  PRKDIOTIOlf, 


213 


lome  expedition  of  miscliicf.  But  Stanley,  is  it 
really  true  that  you've  won  his  lady-love  from  him  ?'* 

"Captain  Rogers,  if  you  wisli  us  to  remain 
friends,  you  will  say  no  more  on  this  subject,"  said 
Fred  sternly. 

"Whew!"  with  a  prolonged  whistle.  "You're 
confoundedly  touchy,  Stanley.  Well,  that's  one 
proof  you're  guilty.  And  now,  may  I  ask,  if  I  can 
do  so  without  offending  you,  whitlier  are  you 
bound  ?" 

"To  N ,  to  join  my  regiment." 

"That's  lucky  !     Are  you  in  much  of  a  hurry." 

"Why,  no  ;  not  particularly." 

"Then  might  I  ask  you  to  grant  me  a  favor?** 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Rogers  ;  anything  in  my 
power." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  interrupted  Rogers, 
eagerly.     "  These  dispatches  I  have  been  ordered  to 

convey  to  Colonel   M ;    but  an  affair  of  a  most 

pressing  nature  requires  my  presence  in  another 
direction.  Now,  if  you  would  deliver  them,  you 
would  render  me  an  inestimable  service.'* 

"  With  all  my  heart,  my  good  fellow.  Stand  and 
deliver." 

"It's  rather  a  dangerous  business,'*  said  Rogers, 
drawing  a  formidable-looking  document  from  his 
breast-pocket.     "  You   will  have  to  make  your  way 

through  the  forest  to  reach  Colonel  M 's  quarters  ; 

and  there  are  lurking  parties  of  Indians  and  tories 
forever  prowling  about — '* 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,"  interrupted  Fred.  **  I  am 
too  well  accustomed  to  danger  to  fear  it ;  besides, 
who  would  shun  danger  in  the  service  of  hit 
country  ?" 

You  will  itart  to-night,  I  suppose  ?** 


it 


;  lis 


1  I 


l:;^ 


11 

Kit 


<';^'|i^ 


IV" 


'/I; 


i  ;r, 


:    H 


'M 


til 

Ml 


•  1  ■  1 


I''  I 


■I  ) 


L. 


214 


THE  HEBMTT^S  PREDICTION. 


**  Oh,  certainly ;  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Here 
comes  our  pretty  hostess,  so  not  a  word  !" 

"Well,  Rosie,  I'll  take  a  drink  and  be  off. 
What  have  you  done  with  that  pocket  edition  of 
Josh  Wilde  ?" 

"None  of  your  business,  Will  Rogers,"  replied 
Rosie,  saucily.  **  Here,  take  this,  and  be  off  ;  I  can't 
be  bothered  with  you." 

Captain  Rogers  laughed,  drained  the  glass  she 
handed  to  him,  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  shouted 
a  careless  good-by  to  Fred,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and 
amid  many  an  admiring  glance  from  the  bright  eyes 
of  the  village  damsels,  rode  off. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  follow  him,"  remarked  Fred, 
turning  carelessly  from  the  window. 

"  You'll  wait  for  dinner,  won't  you  T'  said  Rosie. 
*'  Come  now,  I'll  take  no  refusal.  I  have  ever  so 
many  things  to  say  to  you.  There,  I  kniew  you 
would,"  she  added,  as  Fred  smiled.  "Just  walk  into 
the  parlor,  dinner  '11  be  ready  in  a  minute." 

So  saying,  she  laughingly  pushed  Fred  into  the 
parlor,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  and  leaving 
him  to  amuse  himself  during  her  absence  as  best  he 
might. 

Fred  seated  himself,  and  taking  up  a  volume  of 
Goldsmith's  works  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  pages 
of  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Mistress  Rosie  stood  again  before  him. 

"There's  a  gentleman  out  here  inquiring  for  you, 
Mr.  Fred,"  said  the  little  hostess. 

"  For  me  ?"  said  Fred,  in  surprise.  **  Who  can  it 
be^ 

"  He  looks  like  some  of  those  old  robbers  in  the 
pictures,"    said    Mrs.  Wilde,  "with  a  long   cloals 


IHMil 


tm.jiu.-i.iimi 


THE  HERMIT'S  PBEDIOTIOK. 


215 


wrapped  around  him,  and  his  hat  pulled  way  down 
over  his  eyes.    Will   I  show  him  in  ?** 

*'  I  suppose  so,"  said  Fred,  inwardly  wondering 
who  the  mysterious  personage  could  be. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  figure  of  a  man  wrapped 
in  a  long,  black  cloak,  with  his  hat  pulled  far  down 
over  his  eyes,  stood  before  him. 

"  To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this 
visit  ?"  said  Fred,  rising. 

"  To  a  friend,  young  man  ;  one  who  is  no  stranger 
to  you."  And  removing  his  hat,  Fred  beheld  the 
white  locks  of  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs. 

"  A  friend  you  have  indeed  proved  to  me,  good 
father,"  said  Fred,  frankly  extending  his  hand. 
**  Even  now  you  were  in  my  thoughts,  though  I 
hardly  expected  the  honor  of  this  visit." 

"  You  will  ever  find  me  near  you  when  danger  is 
at  hand,"  said  the  hermit. 

**  Danger  ?"  said  Fred.  **  And  what  danger  threat, 
ens  me  now  ?" 

"  A  soldier's  life  is  always  dangerous,"  replied  the 
old  man,  evasively ;  "  especially  with  so  many  ene- 
mies as  you  have." 

"  Let  it  come,  then,"  said  Fred,  carelessly.  "  I  am 
too  well  accustomed  to  danger  to  shrink  from  it 
now." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  you  carry  a  charmed  life,"  said 
the  hermit ;  "  and  that  because  you  have  escaped  the 
bullet  of  the  executioner,  and  the  halter  of  De  Lisle, 
you  can  rush  into  greater  dangers,  and  come  forth 
scatheless.  Young  man,  I  say  to  thee,  beware; ! 
Last  night,  when  the  stars  rode  in  solemn  splendor 
through  th«  heavens,  I  read  thy  fate.  All  was  dark 
and  ominous.  The  shadow  of  the  scaffold  fell  redly 
across  thy  path.    The  steel  of  the  assassin  is  sharpened 


'     i 


UiF 


i  (I 


^t-; 


1  ^^ 


I!      ;.  ; 

i  ■     1 


216 


THE   hermit's   PKEDIOTIOW. 


for  the  heart  of  one  you  love,  and  for  the  crime  of 
another  shall  you  die.  Again  I  say  to  thee,  beware  ! 
Be  warned  in  time,  else  you  shall  repent  it  when  too 
late  !" 

The  deep,  intense,  passionate  solemnity  with  which 
he  spoke  awed  involuntarily  the  fearless  heart  of 
Fred.  A  sensation  of  fear,  not  for  himself,  but  for 
one  dearer  than  all  the  world  beside,  crept  over  him. 

"  Old  man  !"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  him  by  the 
wrist  with  a  vice-like  grip,  "  who  is  this  for  whom 
the  steel  of  the  assassin  is  prepared  ?  Speak,  and 
tell  me,  for  I  must  know." 

"  That  I  saw  not,"  replied  the  hermit,  calmly.  "  Can 
the  lips  of  man  reveal  what  the  stars  speak  not  ? 
Guard  against  the  danger  which  hangs  over  your- 
self, and  trust  the  rest  to  a  higher  power  ?" 

"  Psha  !  I  might  have  known  'twas  but  silly  rav- 
ing," said  Fred,  shaking  off  the  superstitious  feeling 
that  had  for  a  moment  overcome  him.  "  If  you  have 
nothing  more  definite  than  this  to  warn  me  against, 
good  father,  I  fear  your  words  have  been  in  vain." 

"  And  thou  wilt  not  be  warned  ?"  said  the  old  man, 
sadly.  '*  It  is  only  when  the  danger  is  at  hand  you 
will  believe  me  ?  Did  I  not  warn  you  before,  and 
did  not  my  words  prove  true  ?  Hast  thou  forgotten 
thy  powerful  enemy,  De  Lisle  ?" 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  hini  ;  but  I  fear  him 
not,"  said  Fred,  scornfully. 

"  So  thou  didst  say  before,"  said  the  hermit,  calmly  ; 
**  and  yet  you  fell  in  his  power,  and  would  have  died 
by  his  hand,  but  for  the  heroism  of  a  young  girl. 
The  same  thing  may  happen  again,  when  there  will 
be  no  one  at  hand  to  aid  you." 

"  Forewarned  is  forearmed,"  said  Fred.  "  Ralph 
De  Lisle  will  find  it  not  so  easy  to  get  me  once  more 


THE   hermit's   PBIDIOTION. 


91T 


within  his  clutches  ;  and  should  we  ever  meet  in  open 
warfare,  then,  good  father,  you  will  find  it  your  duty 
to  bid  him  beware  instead  of  me  !" 

"  Rash  youth  !  thou  canst  not  read  the  book  of 
fate  as  I  can,"  said  the  hermit,  sorrowfully.  "  Again 
I  tell  thee,  danger  is  at  hand — nay,  hangs  over  thy 
head,  and  over  one  for  whom  you  would  give  your 
life.  In  the  hour  of  doom  thou  canst  not  say  there 
was  no  one  to  warn  thee  of  thy  danger." 

The  tone  of  profound  melancholy  in  which  the 
last  words  were  uttered  touched  Fred.  Not  that  he 
believed  what  the  old  man  said — his  words  he  con- 
sidered the  mere  idle  raving  of  a  moon-struck  idiot, 
who  warned  him  of  danger  after  hearing  of  his 
narrow  escapes,  and  knowing  De  Lisle  was  still  his 
enemy.  But  his  evident  affection  for  him  and  interest 
in  his  fate  reached  his  heart. 

"  Accept,  at  least,  my  thanks  for  the  interest  you 
manifest  in  me,"  said  Fred  ;  "although  I  may  never 
make  use  of  your  warning,  I  feel  grateful  to  you  for 
it.  And  now,  let  me  ask  you  why  should  you  care  so 
much  for  one  who  is  a  stranger  to  you,  and  whose 
father  you  have  spoken  of  in  the  most  opprobrious 
terms  ?" 

A  moment  after,  he  was  sorry  he  had  asked  a  ques- 
tion wiiich  seemed  to  act  like  a  galvanic  shock  on  the 
hermit,  whose  head  fell  heavily  on  his  clasped  hands, 
while  his  whole  frame  quivered  with  emotion. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Fred,  starting  up,  "  if  I  have 
said  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings,  believe  me  it  was 
quite  unintentional,  and  I  am  sincerely  sorry  for  it." 

'*  Sav  no  more,  say  no  more  !"  said  the  hermit, 
raising  his  head,  and  startling  the  young  man 
by  the  deadly  paleness  of  his  face,  "  I  am  subject  to 
these  sudden  siiocks,  and  do  not  mind  them.     Some 


21S 


THB  hermit's  PBBDIOnON. 


I 


I 


h>   \ 


day,  perhaps,  before  I  die,  should  you  survive  me, 
you  will  know  who  I  am.  But  until  that  time  comes, 
let  what  you  already  know  of  me  suffice.  You  think 
me  crazed — perhaps  I  am  ;  but  there  is  at  least 
*  method  in  my  madness.*  Believe  me  to  be  your 
friend — your  desf  friend  on  earth.  You  say  you  are 
a  stranger  to  me.  Believe  it  not.  Long  before  you 
saw  me,  I  knew  you  ;  and  when  you  least  fancied  it, 
I  have  been  watching  over  you.  I  ask  neither  your 
love  nor  confidence  in  return.  Should  we  both  live, 
the  time  will  come  when  you  will  give  both  wil- 
lingly. And  now,  farewell !  I  have  come  to  warn 
you,  but  you  heeded  not  my  words.  In  the  hour  of 
your  darkest  trial,  when  your  summer  friends  desert 
you  in  the  winter  of  affliction,  I  shall  be  near.  When 
danger  threatens,  look  for  me.  Until  then,  fare- 
well." 

He  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him,  drew  his  hat 
down  over  his  eyes,  bowed  with  dignity  and  was 
gone  ere  Fred  could  frame  an  answer. 

"  Strange  being  !"  thought  the  young  man,  throw- 
ing himself  into  a  seat,  and  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hand.  "  How  dark  and  mysterious  are  his  words  ! 
Can  it  be  that  that  simple  old  man  really  reads  the 
secrets  of  futurity  ?  *  Thou  hast  hidden  from  the 
wise  and  prudent,  and  revealed  unto  babes.'  Won- 
derful being  !  Will  those  ominous  predictions  come 
true  ?  I  have  already  seen  his  words  verified,  and 
why  may  not  those  likewise  ?  *  The  shadow  of  the 
scaffold  falls  across  my  path.'  Well,  though  I  have 
escaped  twice,  I  begin  to  think  I  have  been  born  for 
a  halter,  after  all.  I  can  easily  account  for  my  nar- 
row escape  from  shipwreck  by  the  wise  old  proverb, 
that  any  one  born  to  be  hanged  will  cover  be 
drowned.    It's  a  pleasant  anticipation,  truly.' 


•> 


m^*miimt0mtmmmmmtiiM 


THE  ETEBMITS  PRBDIOTION. 


219 


"  Why,  Mr.  Fred,  you  look  as  dismal  as  if  you  had 
lost  your  last  relation,"  said  the  merry  voice  of  Rosie 
Wilde,  breaking  in  upon  his  reverie.  ''Goodness 
gracious  me  !  have  you  seen  a  ghost,  or  are  you 
thinking  of  suicide  ?  If  you  are,  I've  a  bottle  of 
lodlum  out  in  the  bar  that  will  send  you  sleeping 
comfortably  to  the  other  world  in  less  than  no  time. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 

"  Egad  !  I've  a  strong  notion  to  follow  her  advice, 
and  cheat  Jack  Ketch,  after  all,"  muttered  Fred. 

"  Well,  now,  dinner's  ready,  so  never  mind  talking 
to  yourself  just  now,  for  fear  I  might  overhear  you. 
So  come  along." 

Fred  laughingly  accompanied  Mrs.  Wilde  to  the 
dining-room,  where  they  sat  down  to  a  comfortable 
meal,  to  which  both  did  ample  justice. 

An  hour  after,  as  Fred  stood  in  the  parlor  with 
Mrs.  Wilde,  previous  to  starting,  another  horseman 
galloped  up  and  alighted  at  the  inn  door. 

"  I'll  have  General  Washington  himself  here  next, 
I  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  who  was  rocking  the 
cradle.  "  Your  coming  brought  them  all,  I  think ; 
for  I  haven't  had  so  many  visitors  before  this  month 
of  Sundays." 

"  Landlady  !"  called  a  high,  imperious  voice,  that 
made  Fred  start  and  flush  to  the  temples. 

"  Coming,  coming  !"  answered  Mrs.  Wilde,  hurry- 
ing from  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  passed  by.  Fred  stood  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  all  his  indifference 
gone,  and  a  look  of  fierce  sternness  and  intense 
hatred  on  his  face.     Well  he  recognized  that  voice. 

'*  Gone  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  again  making 
her  appearance. 

Fred  looked  out,  a  young  man  passed  out  of  the 


220 


THE   hermit's   prediction. 


i     i 


^' 


i; ! 


It  .11 


door,  sprang  on  his  horse  and  rode  off,  but  not  before 
Fred  had  caught  a  full  view  of  his  face. 

It  was  Ralph  De  Lisle. 

"  Well,  I  regret  to  say  I  must  leave  you  now,  Mrs. 
Wilde,"  said  Fred,  turning  from  the  window,  and 
Striving  to  banish  the  shadow  that  had  gathered  on 
his  brow. 

"  Very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Rosie,  "  but  I 
hope  to  see  you  soon  again." 

"  Rest  assured  of  that,  my  dear  madame,"  said 
Fred.  "  I  shall  certainly  visit  my  little  namesake  as 
soon  as  may  be.     Good-bye  until  we  meet  again." 

Raising  the  plump  little  hand  she  extended  to  his 
lips,  Fred  passed  out,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight,  while  the  pretty  little  hostess  of 
the  "  Bottle  and  Bowl  "  stood  in  the  doorway,  watch- 
ing him  until  he  disappeared. 

Night  found  him  making  his  way  slowly  and  with 
difficulty  along  the  slippery  forest-path  in  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out  by  his  friend.  Captain  Rogers.  It 
was  a  gloomy,  disagreeable  night.  A  thin,  drizzling 
rain  was  falling,  a  cold,  sharp  wind  was  sighing 
drearily  through  the  trees.  There  was  no  light, 
save  the  faint  sickly  glow  of  the  spectral  moon,  as 
she  lifted  her  wan  face  over  the  bleak  tree-tops, 
through  the  dull,  dark  clouds  that  scudded  across 
the  sky. 

Urging  his  horse  with  rein  and  spur,  Fred  bent  his 
head  to  the  storm,  and  proceeded  slowly  onward. 
There  was  a  strange  presentiment  of  evil  hanging 
over  him — an  oppression  of  spirits  he  had  never  felt 
before.  It  might  have  been  caused  by  the  words  of 
the  hermit,  his  chance  glimpse  of  De  Lisle,  which  he 
felt  half-inclined  to  consider  an  omen  of  evil,  or  it 
might  have  been  caused  by  the  dismal  night  and  the 


;...^Bii><»0*ll 


III  I'  mm 


THE   hermit's  prediction. 


221 


jfore 


mtl 


lonely  path  he  was  pursuing.  He  strove  to  shake  off 
these  superstitious  fancies,  knowing  there  might  be 
more  tangible  evils  at  hand,  for  there  were  always 
lurking  bodies  of  Indians  prowling  about  in  the 
woods.  Now  and  then  the  cry  of  some  wild  animal 
would  break  upon  his  ear,  making  his  horse  start  and 
snort  with  terror,  but  no  enemy  had  molested  him, 
and  ere  morning  he  trusted  to  be  far  from  danger. 

Suddenly  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  road  brought  him 
in  view  of  a  scene  that  made  him  start  and  draw 
back  in  alarm. 

In  the  centre  of  a  large  semi-circle,  evidently  the 
work  of  Nature,  and  not  of  art,  a  large  fire  was  burn- 
ing. Gathered  around  it  were  some  twenty  half- 
naked,  hideously-painted  savages,  who,  with  a  large 
keg,  which  Fred  well  knew  contained  rum,  were  evi- 
dently bent  upon  making  a  night  of  it,  in  spite  of  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather. 

To  escape  without  being  discovered  was  now 
Fred's  idea.  He  turned  noiselessly  to  proceed  in 
another  direction,  but  his  horse  reared  at  the  sudden 
blaze  of  light,  and  gave  a  loud  neigh  of  fear. 

It  reached  the  keen  ears  of  the  Indians.  Snatching 
up  their  weapons,  they  sprang  to  their  feet,  while  a 
series  of  diabolical  yells  rent  the  air,  followed  by  an 
ominous  silence. 


222 


THE  STAKS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    STAKE. 

"  Through  the  leafy  halls  of  the  wild  old  wood, 

Rang  an  echo  full  and  free. 
To  the  savage  shout  of  a  fearful  band, 
~As  they  bound  the  white  man  foot  and  hand 

To  the  sacrificial  tree." 

— H.  Marion  Stephins. 


'i. 


if 


Escape  was  now  out  of  the  question.  Resolved  to 
sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible,  Fred  drew  his  pis- 
tols, and  two  of  the  foremost  savages,  with  wild 
howls,  bit  the  ground.  Maddened  by  the  sight,  the 
remainder  sprang  hercely  upon  him,  and  in  spite  of 
his  desperate  resistance,  he  was  overpowered  by 
numbers  and  securely  bound.  They  next  turned 
their  attention  to  their  fallen  companions.  One  of 
them  was  only  wounded,  but  the  other  was  quite 
dead.  A  long,  low  wail  was  heard,  as  he  who 
appeared  to  be  their  chief  touched  the  fresh  scalp- 
lock  which  dangled  at  his  belt. 

The  savages  now  gathered  in  a  cluster,  and 
appeared  to  hold  a  consultation,  while  Fred,  bound 
to  a  tree,  inwardly  wondered  what  Dame  Fortune 
had  in  store  for  him  next.  In  the  red  light  Of  the 
fire,  the  scene  resembled  one  of  Salvator  Rosa's  wild 
paintings.  The  dark,  gloomy  forest  in  tiie  back- 
ground, through  which  the  wind  sighed  a  dirge-like 
chant.  The  wild  faces,  gleaming  eyes,  and  horribly- 
painted  bodies  of  his  captors,  giving  them  the  look 
of  demons  in  the  lurid  glow  of  the  fire. 


WMliiMliriMaillMW 


THE   STAKE. 


323 


Fred  waited  eagerly  for  the  result  of  this  confer- 
ence. Now  and  then  he  would  catch  some  fierce 
exclamation,  but  as  they  spoke  in  their  own  language, 
he,  of  course,  understood  not  a  word.  Often,  too,  he 
would  catch  a  look  directed  to  himself  that  boded 
him  no  good.  At  last,  they  seemed  to  have  arrived 
at  some  conclusion  ;  for,  rising  to  their  feet,  they 
returned  to  their  former  places  round  the  fire,  glar- 
ing savagely  upon  him  as  they  passed. 

Left  alone,  Fred  was  soon  lost  in  thought.  He 
seemed  to  himself  a  mere  foot-ball  in  the  hands  of 
Fate,  to  be  tossed  wherever  the  fickle  goddess  willed. 
In  the  power  of  the  Indians,  he  well  knew  that  death, 
speedy  and  bloody,  must  be  his  doom.  Death  and 
he  had  been  too  often  face  to  face  for  him  to  shrink 
from  it  now  ;  but  to  die  thus,  afar  from  all  who  ever 
knew  or  cared  for  him,  might  have  chilled  the 
stoutest  heart.  To  die  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  fighting 
for  his  country,  would  have  been  glory  ;  but  such  a 
death  as  he  well  knew  was  now  in  store  for  him,  was 
indeed  appalling.  He  thought  of  Edith,  freed  from 
the  power  of  her  mortal  foe,  and  happy  at  home,  and 
wondered  if  she  would  ever  hear  of  his  fate.  He 
thought  of  the  strange,  mysterious  hermit,  and  of 
his  dark  prediction  of  coming  danger  so  soon  ful- 
filled. 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  where  sat  his  captors.  Some 
of  them,  overpowered  by  the  eflFects  of  the  fire-water, 
were  stretched  on  the  ground  asleep,  looking  like 
dark  statues  in  their  rigid  repose.  The  others  still 
sat  drinking,  some  whooping  and  yelling  fearfully 
in  their  intoxication,  the  rest  silently  staring  at 
them,  evidently  more  than  half  stupefied. 

Fred's  position  was  painful  in  the  extreme.  The 
ligatures  which  bound  his  wrists  behind  him  were 


234 


THE  STAKE. 


tied  80  tightly,  that  they  seemed  cutting  their  way 
into  the  flesh.  His  position  was  painfully  constrained, 
his  head  being  the  only  portion  of  his  body  he  could 
move. 

To  add  to  his  sufiferings,  the  storm  which  had  for 
several  hours  been  threatening,  now  burst  in  all  its 
fury.  A  blaze  of  lightning,  so  vivid  that  it  seemed 
as  though  the  heavens  were  one  vast  sheet  of  flame, 
followed  by  a  terrific  crash  of  thunder  and  flood  of 
rain,  and  the  storm  was  upon  them  in  full  fury. 
Roused  from  their  slumbers,  the  stunned  and  half- 
drunken  savages  gathered  together  in  evident  dis- 
may. The  wind  howled  a  perfect  tornado,  the  light- 
ning still  flashed  in  one  continual  sulphurous  glare, 
the  thunder  pealed  as  though  the  heavens  were 
rending  asunder,  and  the  rain  fell  in  perfect  torrents. 
A  tall  tree,  scarcely  three  yards  frona  where  Fred 
stood,  was  shivered  to  atoms  by  a  blinding  flash, 
and  another  was  torn  violently  up  by  the  roots  and 
hurled  almost  at  his  feet. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  storm  continued  in  all 
its  fury.  Then  the  sullen  clouds  began  slowly  to 
break  away,  the  lightning  still  flashed,  but  at  rare 
intervals  ;  the  thunder  growled  far  off  in  ilie  distance, 
the  wind  abated  its  fury,  and  though  the  rain  still 
fell,  it  was  no  longer  in  drenching  torrents.  The 
savages  recovering  from  the  effects  of  their  first 
alarm,  and  still  stupid  with  liqu'^r,  again  stretched 
themselves  on  the  wet  ground,  and  soon  lay  motion- 
less, like  hideous  figures  in  wax. 

Fred,  wet,  cold,  and  benumbed,  stood  waiting  the 
approach  of  day.  His  arms  felt  as  though  they  were 
dead,  having  swollen  from  being  so  tightly  bound. 
As  he  thought  of  the  fearful  fate  for  which  he  was 
most  probably  reserved,  he  had  more  than  once,  dur- 


f*l. 


TOE   STAKE. 


225 


ing  tlie  raging  of  the  storm,  wished  that  some 
friendly  flash  of  lightning  had  freed  his  spirit,  and 
borne  him  from  their  power. 

The  hours  of  tiiat  dreary  night  wore  on,  but  Fred 
thought  it  the  longest  he  had  ever  known.  Tlie  gray, 
foggy  light  of  morning  at  last  stole  over  the  tree-tops, 
coming  slowly  and  unwillingly,  as  though  reluctant 
to  behold  the  disasters  of  the  preceding  night.  Fred 
recollected  that  at  that  time,  twenty-four  hours 
before,  he  had  bade  adieu  to  Edith,  and  something 
akin  to  despair  filled  his  heart,  as  the  certainty  that 
he  should  never  see  her  again  stole  over  him. 

His  captors  had  by  this  time  arisen,  and  were  now 
busily  engaged  in  making  their  morning  meal.  This 
over,  some  of  them  went  in  search  of  their  horses 
where  they  had  left  them  the  preceding  night,  while 
two  others  approached  the  prisoner,  and  having  un- 
fastened the  thongs  which  bound  him,  placed  before 
him  a  sort  of  hard,  coarse  cake  made  of  Indian  corn, 
a  gourd  filled  with  water,  and  made  signs  for  him  to 
eat. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  could  comply,  for 
his  hands  were  stiff  and  benumbed,  and  the  food 
none  of  the  most  palatable.  Knowing,  however, 
Nature  must  be  sustained,  he  essayed  to  eat ;  and 
by  the  time  he  had  finished  his  meal,  the  rest 
returned  with  the  horsae. 

Fred  was  permitted  to  mount  his  own  horse  ; 
and  with  one  of  his  captors  on  each  side  of  him  they 
dashed  off  at  a  rapid  gallop. 

They  rode  on  for  several  hours,  avoiding  with  the 
utmost  care  all  white  settlements,  and  a  little  before 
noon  they  halted  at  a  running  stream  to  rest  their 
wearied  animals.  Fred  alighted,  and  was  bound  as 
before,  to  prevent  his  escaping,  while  his  captors 


226 


THE  STAKE. 


i<   I' 


.]:*■ 


!  I 


once  more  regaled  themselves  with  their  coarse 
food. 

All  traces  of  the  previous  night's  storm  had  now 
vanished.  The  sun  shone  in  unclouded  splendor, 
and  at  any  other  time  Fred  would  have  admired  the 
beaubiful  scene  around  him,  but  now  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  his  captors. 

They  were  a  savage,  blood-thirsty  looking  set, 
hideously  painted,  and  frightfully  ugly,  looking 
fiercer  and  more  barbarous  in  the  clear  light  of  day 
than  when  he  had  seen  them  first.  They  ate  in  soU 
emn  silence,  and  having  finished,  again  mounted  and 
rode  off,  seldom  speaking,  save  when  he  who  appeared 
to  be  their  chief  addressed  to  them  a  few  brief  words, 
evidently  concerning  tlveir  journey. 

Toward  evening,  the  par.  ,  again  halted,  and  made 
preparations  for  the  night.  Fred  was  again  bound, 
but  in  such  a  manner  as  would  permit  him  to  lie 
down.  The  savages  then  proceeded  to  kindle  a  fire; 
and  seating  themselves  around  it,  after  partaking  of 
their  evening  meal,  of  which  Fred  received  a  share, 
they  stretched  themselves  on  the  damp  earth,  and 
were  soon  buried  in  sleep,  with  the  exception  of  one 
who  remained  to  keep  guard. 

It  was  a  lovely  night.  The  moon  rode  in  radiant 
brightness  through  the  blue  arch  of  heaven.  One 
by  one  the  solemn  stars  came  out,  looking  with  their 
pitying  eyes  on  the  pale  face  of  the  captive.  The 
cool  south  wind  lifted  his  long,  dark  locks  off  his 
noble  brow.  The  air  was  redolent  with  the  odor  of 
flowers,  and  with  a  sing-song  sound  in  his  ears,  Fred 
fell  asleep. 

And  sleeping,  he  dreamed  Once  again  in  fancy 
he  stood  by  the  side  of  Edith,  whispering  in  her  ear 
''the  tale   which   ladies  love  to  hear."     Suddenly  a 


THE   STAKE. 


227 


shadow  fell  across  his  path.  Edith  was  torn  from 
his  side,  and  with  the  rapidity  of  thought,  he  found 
himself  swinging  by  the  neck  from  a  halter.  A  shriek 
of  mortal  agony  reached  his  ears,  and  looking  down, 
he  beheld  Edith  struggling  in  the  arms  of  De  Lisle, 
now  transformed  into  a  hideously-painted  savage. 
With  a  start,  he  awoke  to  find  his  dream,  in  part, 
realized. 

The  red  hue  of  coming  morn  was  already  crimson- 
ing the  sky.  His  savage  captors  were  up  and  gath- 
ered together  in  a  circle,  as  if  holding  a  consultation. 
Among  them,  Fred  beheld  the  fierce,  dark  faces  of 
three  or  four  of  De  Lisle's  tory  band  ;  and  standing 
above  him,  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast, 
and  a  look  of  fiendish  triumph  on  his  face,  was  Ralph 
De  Lisle  himself. 

**  So,"  said  De  Lisle,  slowly  hissing  the  words 
through  his  closed  teeth,  "  so,  Fred  Stanley,  we  have 
met  again." 

"  So  it  seems,"  replied  Fred,  calmly. 

"  You  see,  sir,  you  are  in  the  hands  of  fate,  and 
that  you  cannot  escape  me.  No  doubt  you  fancied, 
when  you  so  cleverly  freed  yourself  from  my  power, 
that  you  were  safe.  Now  you  are  convinced  of  your' 
mistake.  Since  our  last  meeting,  I  have  daily  prayed 
I  might  soon  hold  you  in  my  clutches  once  more, 
and  now  my  prayer  is  granted." 

"Which  proves  that  your  master,  the  devil,  is 
good  to  his  own,"  said  Fred. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,  my  good  friend. 
Well,  I  can  excuse  that  in  one  whose  hours  are  num- 
bered. Fred  Stanley,  Dame  Fortune  has  favored 
you  long.  One  time  I  almost  fancied  you  bore  a 
charmed  life  ;  but  fate  can  bear  you  no  farther  than 
the  end,  and  your  hour  has  come.     For  your  pres» 


li 


228 


THE   STAKE. 


nt 


u-  i 


I  ■ 


ent  risk  you  have  no  one  to  thank  but  yourself,  and, 
being  such  a  hot-headed  fool,  our  dusky  friends  yon- 
der will  prevent  your  getting  intc^  any  more  scrapes, 
by  sending  you  to  heaven  where  you  belong,  the  first 
opportunity.  Dream  no  longer  that  you  can  escape. 
Yonder  sun,  which  is  rising,  you  will  never  see  set. 
Ere  three  hours  we  will  have  reached  the  Indian  vil- 
lage, where  the  stake  is  prepared,  and  your  doom  is 
sealed.  No  power,  either  in  heaven  or  earth,  can 
save  you  now.  And  if,  as  you  say,  the  devil  is  my 
master,  I  most  sincerely  thank  him  for  preserving 
you  from  the  rope,  since  it  has  reserved  you  for  the 
far  more  horrible  fate  of  death  by  slow  torture.  1! 
shall  faithfully,  like  a  true  friend,  stand  by  you  to 
the  last,  and  witnessing  your  death  agony,  console 
you  by  the  agreeable  information,  that  in  spite  of 
Fate,  Edith  Percival  shall  yet  be  mine.  Doubtless, 
she  imagines,  as  you  did  a  few  hours  ago,  that  she 
has  escaped  me  forever.  Like  you,  she  will  find  her 
mistake  ere  long  ;  and  I  swear,  she  shall  repent  in 
dust  and  ashes  for  her  scorn  of  me.  Ha  !  you 
change  color.  I  thought  that  would  touch  you.  I 
see  you  can  fear  for  her  though  not  for  yourself. 
Well,  every  indignity  that  woman  can  endure  shall 
be  hers,  until  your  dainty  lady-love  shall  weep  for 
the  hour  she  was  born." 

De  Lisle  paused,  while  his  eyes  actually  blazed. 
An  infernal  spirit  might  have  envied  the  diabolical 
triumph  that  shone  in  his  face. 

"  Villain  !  monster  !  devil  !"  cried  Fred,  almost 
maddened  by  his  words.  "An  hour  of  fearful  reck- 
oning will  yet  come  for  all  this." 

"  You  are  disposed  to  moralize,  my  dear  Stanley," 
said  De  Lisle,  with  his  usual  mocking  sneer.  "  Well, 
doubtless,  the  near  approach  of  death  does  incline 


THB   STAKE. 


229 


men  that  way.  As  for  the  future  reckoning  you 
threaten  me  with,  believe  in  it  if  you  will  ;  as  for  me, 
I  have  a  spirit  above  such  hypocritical  whining  and 
preacher's  cant.  However,  I  will  not  a;  jue  the 
matter  now,  as  in  a  few  hours  you  will  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  knowing  which  of  us  is  right.  If,  when 
you  reach  the  other  world,  you  really  do  see  the  gen- 
tleman in  black — my  master,  you  know — just  give 
him  my  compliments,  will  you,  and  tell  him  I  trust 
he  will  always  remain  as  true  a  friend  to  me  as  he 
has  up  to  the  present.  Ah  !  here  comes  my  friend, 
Long  Knife — suggestive  name,  isn't  it  ?  I  will  leave 
you  to  meditation  and  prayer,  hoping  you  will  offer 
up  a  good  word  for  Edith  and  mey  while  I  consult 
with  yonder  dusky  chieftain."  And  lifting  his  hat 
with  mock  politeness,  Dc  Lisle  turned  on  his  heel 
and  strode  away. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give  an  idea  of  the  tor- 
rent of  fiery,  passionate,  maddening  thoughts  that, 
leaped  in  burning  chaos  through  the  brain  of  Fred. 
The  image  of  Edith  in  the  power  of  De  Lisle,  that 
demon  in  human  form,  was  ever  before  him.  And 
he  knew  of  the  fate  in  store  for  her,  and  yet  was 
unable  to  assist  her.  He  grew  maddened,  frenzied 
at  the  thought,  and  struggled  to  burst  his  bonds, 
until,  finding  all  his  efforts  ineffectual,  he  sank  back 
exhaustCvi. 

Standing  at  a  few  yards  distant,  talking  to  a  fright- 
fully-painted savage — who,  from  the  number  of 
feathers  waving  from  his  scalp-lock,  appeared  to  be 
a  chief  of  unusual  distinction — stood  De  Lisle.  He 
saw  the  impression  his  words  had  made,  and  tlie 
smile  of  gratified  hatred  on  his  lips  ;  and  the  light 
of  triumphant  malice  in  his  eyes  made  him  appear 
more  of  a  demon  than  ever. 


230 


THE  STAKE. 


?■; 


M 


After  a  few  moments  rapid  conversation,  the 
parties  separated,  and  mounting  their  horses,  pre- 
pared to  start.  Fred  rose  as  before,  guarded  by  two 
of  tiie  Indians.  De  Lisle  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
his  own  men,  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  in  number, 
and  all  dashed  off. 

For  over  three  hours  they  rode  on  rapidly,  knd 
almost  in  silence.  Now  and  then  De  Lisle  would 
turn  to  converse  with  the  man  Paul  Snowe,  who 
formed  one  of  his  party  ;  but  this  was  only  at  inter- 
vals, and  each  seemed  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections  to  tnik. 

At  length,  as  they  reached  the  summit  of  a  high 
hill,  the  whole  party  drew  rein,  and  paused  for  a 
moment.  Below  them  lay  an  Indian  village,  envel- 
oped by  encircling  hills,  and  forming  a  sort  of  circle 
of  thirty  huts  or  thereabouts.  The  whole  popula- 
tion of  the  village  seemed  to  have  turned  out  to  meet 
them  ;  and  with  wild  shouts,  more  than  ha'f  of  Fred's 
captors  dashed  off,  leaving  him  with  De  Lisle's  men 
and  the  others  to  follow  more  slowly. 

As  Fred  neared  the  village,  he  turned  to  gaze  on 
them,  and  was  forced  to  think  that  a  more  repulsive- 
looking  set  he  had  never  beheld.  The  women  were 
even  worse  than  the  men,  with  their  fiat,  unintel- 
lectual-looking  faces,  dirty  persons,  and  savage, 
unpitying  eyes.  Every  look  was  bent  upon  him,  as 
he  rode  past,  but  all  were  fierce  and  stern,  and  even 
the  children  seemed  to  glare  with  their  dark  eyes  as 
fiendishly  as  their  parents. 

One  of  the  Indians  made  a  sign  for  Fred  to  dis- 
mount ;  and  bidding  him  follow,  led  the  way  toward 
one  of  the  huts,  the  crowd  opening  right  and  left  to 
allow  them  to  pass.  Pushing  aside  the  skin  which 
served  for  a  door,  he  motioned  him  to  enter,  and 


THE  STAKE. 


231 


then  binding  him  hand  and  foot,  he  seated  himself 
beside  the  door  to  keep  guard,  with  his  scowling 
black  eyes  fixed  on  his  prisoner,  with  the  steady  gaze 
of  a  basilisk. 

Fred  had  made  no  resistance, knowing  it  would  be 
worse  than  useless  ;  and  now  he  sat  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  i.he  ground,  striving  to  collect  his  thoughts 
and  think  calmly.  In  vaia,  all  was  wild  confusion  in 
his  heart  and  brain,  everything  seemed  red  and  danc- 
ing before  his  eyes.  Death  !  death  !  seemed  written 
in  fiery  characters  everywhere  he  turned.  Never  had 
he  felt  so  dreadful  a  certainly  that  his  last  hour 
was  come,  than  when  sitting  there,  expecting  each 
moment  to  be  led  forth  to  the  stake.  He  felt  at  that 
bitter  moment  that  De  Lisle's  words  were  true,  and 
that  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  died  by  the 
halter  than  to  be  reserved  for  the  fearful  doom  now 
in  store  for  him.  His  bodUy  suffering  almost  equaled 
the  mental,  for  the  ligatures  which  bound  him  were 
cutting  into  the  quivering  flesh,  ard  his  posture  was 
so  constrained  that  he  could  not  move.  He  strove 
to  pray  ;  but  the  hated  image  ci  De  Lisle,  at  such 
times,  would  rise  before  him,  driving  away  the  pity- 
ing form  of  his  good  angel,  and  filling  his  mind  with 
fierce,  bitter  thoughts. 

And  so  two  or  three  hours  passed  away.  His 
savage  jailer  still  crouched  at  the  door, glaring  upon 
him  with  his  eyes  of  fire,  his  half-naked,  horribly- 
painted  body  and  scarred  face  giving  him  the  appear- 
ance of  some  hideous  painting,  rather  than  a  living 
man.  Now  and  then  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  would 
steal  in  through  some  chink,  falling  like  an  angel 
hand  on  the  black,  glossy  locks  of  the  captive.  There 
was  a  drowsy  stillness  in  the  air,  rendered  more 
oppressive  by  the  dull,  monotonous  hum  that  came 


Hi 


232 


THE  gTAKB. 


■1  i     1 


•ri 


from  the  village.  At  length,  a  profound  stillness  for 
a  few  moments  succeeded.  Fred  listened  in  wonder, 
and  even  his  guard  betrayed  some  sign  of  interest. 
They  could  almost  hear  each  other  breathe,  so  pro- 
found was  the  stillness,  when  lo  !  a  yell  so  tierce,  so 
savage,  so  diabolical  that  it  seemed  to  come  from  the 
depths  of  Pandemonium,  broke  upon  their  ears. 
With  an  answering  cry,  the  Indian  guard  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  turned  to  Fred  with  such  a  look  of 
fiendish  triumph,  that  he  could  no  longer  doubt  what 
these  shouts  purported.  They  were  his  death- 
warrant. 

A  moment  after,  and  the  skin  at  the  entrance  was 
burst  rudely  aside,  and  two  fierce,  hideous-looking 
warriors  entered,  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  the 
guard,  who  immediately  rushed  from  the  hut.  Then 
approaching  Fred,  they  severed  his  bonds,  and  made 
signs  for  him  to  rise.  With  some  difficulty  he 
obeyed,  for  his  limbs  were  cramped  and  painful  in 
the  extreme.  Then  motioning  him  to  follow,  they 
led  the  way  into  the  air. 

It  was  a  golden,  glowing  summer  day.  The  sun 
shone  in  a  sky  of  unclouded  blue,  and  poured  a  glow 
of  light  and  heat  over  the  green  earth.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  the  odor  of  flowers,  and  the  clear  chirp- 
ing of  numberless  birds  mingled  gently  with  the 
dreamy  murmur  of  the  trees.  Never  had  Nature 
appeared  so  lovely  to  him  before,  as  he  cast  one 
long  last,  lingering  look  around. 

A  series  of  unearthly  yells  g  eeted  him  as  he  ap- 
peared. The  whole  population  of  the  village — 
warriors,  squaws,  and  papooses  had  assembled 
around  a  large  stake,  firmly  driven  in  the  yielding 
earth,  and  were  glaiing  upon  him  with  their  fierce 
eyes. 


i     i 


THE   STAKE. 


233 


Around  the  stake  was  a  pile  of  fagots  ready  to  be 
set  on  fire,  and  leading  him  toward  it,  they  bound 
his  arms  firmly  behind  him  to  the  stake. 

Almost  unknown  to  himself,  there  had  been 
hitherto  a  wild  hope  still  lingering  in  Fred's  breast — 
a  hope  that  Fate  or  rather  Providence  had  not  re- 
served him  for  a  doom  so  fearful.  But  now  the  last 
faint  spark  of  hope  died  out,  and  with  it  wentallhis 
wild,  tumultuous  thoughts,  and  a  deep,  settled  calm 
took  their  place. 

He  looked  up.  Before  him  stood  De  Lisle,  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  gazing  upon  him  with 
his  evil  eyes.  The  sneering  smile  of  a  demon  was 
on  his  face,  all  the  intense  hatred  and  revenge  he  had 
ever  cherished,  glowed  in  his  features,  and  a  light  of 
intense  malignity  glittered  in  his  serpent-like  eyes. 

"Well,  Fred  Stanley,  we  have  met  for  the  last 
time,"  he  said,  mockingly.  "  You  see  now  the  death 
you  were  born  for — your  doom  is  to  roast  alive  by  a 
slow  fire." 

Fred  made  no  reply.  Fixing  his  eyes  on  De  Lisle's 
face  he  gazed  upon  him  so  long,  so  fixed,  so  steadily, 
that  involuntarily  De  Lisle  quailed  before  him.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment,  however,  and  recovering  him- 
self, he  went  on. 

"  And  have  you  no  message  to  send  to  Edith  ?  I 
go  from  here  to-night,  and  with  the  help  of  my  mas- 
ter, before  referred  to,  I  shall  carry  her  off  in  spite 
of  them  all,  to  where  they  will  never  again  behold 
her.  Look  as  fierce  as  you  please,  my  good  fellow  ; 
I  rather  enjoy  it  than  otherwise,  since  it  tells  me  you 
feel.  Once,  had  I  not  hated  you  so  intensely,  with  a 
hatred  that  became  part  of  my  very  being,  I  could 
have  envied  you  for  the  heart  you  had  won,  a  heart 
which  I  will  yet  trample  under  my  feet,  until  your 


234 


THE   STAKE. 


U 


1  f  li'  U 


fate  win  seem  an  enviable  one  compared  with  hers. 
She  despised  me,  spurned  me  with  contempt  for  the 
gay,  the  handsome,  tlie  fascinating,  the  gallant  Fred 
Stanley,  and  in  her  turn  she  will  learn  what  it  is  to 
be  spurned.  No  one  who  has  ever  yet  injured  me 
escaped.  To  the  very  ends  of  the  earth  I  would  fol- 
low them,  like  a  bloodhound  following  a  trail,  until 
I  had  wreaked  my  vengeance.  You  wronged  me,  in- 
sulted me,  and  you  see  the  result — a  fate  so  dreadful 
that  manhood  must  shudder  to  contemplate  it,  will 
be  yours.  Her  turn  comes  next,  for  now  that  you 
stand  on  the  threshold  of  eternity,  I  swear  to  you, 
Fred  Stanley,  that  neither  Heaven  nor  earth  can  turn 
me  from  my  purpose." 

"Monster!"  exclaimed  Fred,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  low  and  unnatural  with  intense  horror,  "is 
this  tlie  return  you  make  for  all  Major  Percival  has 
done  for  you  ?  For  myself,  I  neither  have  nor  shall 
ask  for  mercy  from  you,  fiend  that  you  are — I  would 
not  accept  it  if  offered  ;  but  gratitude  to  the  old  man, 
wlio  has  been  more  than  a  father  to  you,  should 
restrain  you  from  a  crime  that  even  these  blood- 
tiiirsty  savages  around  us  would  shrink  from  com- 
miting.  Man  !  man  !  if  there  is  one  spark  of  human 
mature  in  your  fiendish  heart,  you  will  not  bring  the 
gray  hairs  of  that  old  man  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  and  Fred  Stanley  can  plead  for  the 
man  who  spurned  him  like  a  dog  !"  laughed  De  Lisle, 
.scornfully.  "  If  you  continue  in  this  strain,  I  shall 
begin  to  think  you  are  a  saint — have  you  canonized, 
and  let  Edith  know  you  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity. 
Yo  ..  eloquence  is  quite  lost,  my  good  friend  ;  that 
one  spark  of  human  nature  you  see,  does  nof  exist  in 
my  fiendish  heart.  Say,  my  friend,  was  it  not  for 
pretty  Edith  you  were  pleading  that  time,  instead  of 


THE   STAEB. 


235 


her  doting  old  fool  of  a  father  ?  Spare  him  ! — ha  l 
ha  h— wiiy,  I  have  a  long  score  against  him,  too,  that 
must  be  wiped  out  by  a  few  of  his  doubloons.  When 
he  refused  to  compel  his  love-sick  daughter  to  marry 
me,  I  vowed  vengeance  against  him  as  well  as  the 
rest ;  and,  as  I  don't  like  to  be  in  people's  debts,  I 
shall  lake  care  to  cancel  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  If  there  ever  was  a  devil  in  human  form,  it  is  you, 
Ralph  De  Lisle  !"  exclaimed  Fred,  with  a  look  of 
hatred  and  loathing  ;  "  to  pursue  thus,  with  the  ven- 
geance of  a  tiger,  an  old  man  and  a  helpless  girl  for 
some  fancied  wrong.  Had  it  been  a  man — but  old 
age  and  helplessness.     Oh,  coivard T 

De  Lisle's  face  grew  livid  with  rage,  as  he  half 
drew  a  pistol,  and  advanced  a  step  toward  him. 

Fred  observed  the  action  ;  and  his  heart  bounded 
with  the  hope,  that  in  his  rage,  De  Lisle  might  shoot 
him,  and  thus  save  him  from  a  more  terrible  fate. 

The  hope  was  in  vain,  however.  De  Lisle  saw  the 
quick  gleam  of  his  eye,  and  stepping  back,  he 
replaced  the  pistol  in  his  belt  saying,  in  his  customary 
sarcastic  tone  : 

"No,  don't  flatter  yourself  I'll  end  your  sufferings 
so  speedily.  I  have  no  intention  of  depriving  my  good 
friends  here  of  the  pleasant  scene  they  anticipate.  I 
must  confess  it  is  rather  new  for  me  to  allow  any 
one  to  call  me  a  coward,  and  let  him  escape  immedi- 
ate chastisement,  but  circumstances  alter  cases,  you 
know.  I  perceive  Long  Knife  approaching,  to  give 
the  signal  for  the  fagots  to  be  lighted,  and  our  red- 
skinned  friends  are  growing  impatient.  So  farewell, 
Fred  Stanley  !  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey  tp  the 
other  world,  and  a  cordial  welcome  when  you  arrive 
there  !" 

He  bowed  with  most  ceremonious  politeness,  and 


236 


TEE   STAKE. 


y  n 


n 


,>■'■ 
IS' 


!   I 


Stepped  aside,  as  the  savage  chief  approachied. 
Waving  his  ^and  as  a  signal,  one  of  the  Indians 
approached,  and  thrust  a  lighted  brand  among  the 
combustibles. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  pile  was  in  a  blaze.  With 
screeches  and  yells  that  can  be  likened  to  nothing 
earthly,  the  savages  joined  hands  and  danced  n^adly 
around  the  flames  that  rose  crackling,  and  blazing, 
and  roaring  as  though  exulting  in  their  power. 

Fred  raised  his  eyes  to  the  bright  sky  above  him 
for  one  farewell  glance.  It  was  such  a  glorious  day, 
bright  and  radiant  with  sunlight.  All  Nature  looked 
peaceful  and  lovely  ;  in  the  breast  of  man  alone, 
fierce,  dark  passions  existed — they  alone  thirsted  for 
each  other's  lives. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  flames,  fiercer  and 
fiercer  they  blazed,  faster  and  faster  they  spread, 
until  he  stood  alone  within  a  red,  lurid  circle  of  fire. 
The  heat  and  smoke  were  beginning  to  grow  unbear- 
able, for  the  flames  had  not  reached  him.  Fixing  his 
eyes  on  the  devouring  monster,  Fred  silently  com- 
mitted his  soul  to  Heaven.  One  last  thought  of 
Edith,  and  then  all  were  turned  to  that  dread  Un- 
known, to  which  he  was  so  rapidly  approachihg. 

The  cries,  whoops,  yells  and  screeches  of  the  sav- 
ages each  moment  increased,  as  they  danced  madly 
outside  the  ring  of  fire.  He  scarcely  heeded  or 
heard  them,  until  suddenly  they  died  away.  Every 
voice  was  arrested — the  mad  dance  ceased — and  all 
stood  as  if  transfixed.  Following  the  direction 
toward  which  every  eye  was  now  turned,  Fred  beheld 
a  sight  which  filled  him  with  amazement. 


"  i\ 


'  f* 


▲  NABBOW   ESOAPB. 


237 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    NARROW    ESCAPE, 

•*  Oh  f  ask  me  not  to  speak  thy  fate— 

Oh  !  tempt  me  not  to  tell. 
The  doom  shall  make  thee  desolate, 

The  wrong  thou  mayst  not  quell. 
Away  f  away  !  for  death  would  be 

Even  as  a  mercy  unto  thee." 

The  cause  of  their  astonishment  was  soon  ex- 
plained. There,  before  them,  like  a  spirit,  in  his 
flowing  robes  and  snowy  hair,  stood  the  Hermit  of 
the  Cliffs  ! 

With  a  grunt  expressive  of  surprise  and  satisfac- 
tion, not  unmingled  with  awe,  the  chief  advanced  to 
meet  him.  There  was  something  truly  imposing  in 
the  majestic  appearance  of  the  old  man — his  fantas- 
tic robes  flutteriiigin  the  air,  his  long  white  hair  and 
beard  flowing  over  his  shoulders.  There  was  an  evi- 
dent reverence  and  respect  for  this  singular  old  man 
in  the  hearts  of  the  Indians,  who  looked  upon  him 
as  a  superior  being — something  more  akin  to  the 
Great  Spirit  than  to  his  fellow-men. 

Pointing  with  his  hand  toward  the  prisoner,  the 
hermit  addressed  the  chief  in  his  own  language,  in  a 
tone  more  of  command  than  entreaty.  At  first,  his 
words  were  listened  to  impatiently — then  angrily — 
and  finally  with  a  sort  of  awe.  As  the  hermit  went 
on,  increasing  in  veiiemence,  the  warrior  listened  in 
superstitious  silence,  and  when  he  had  concluded,  he 
bowed  his  head,  and,  followed  by  the  hermit,  turned 


)  ;l 


I 


!,l 


238 


A   NARROW    ESCAPE, 


M 


\  %', 


toward  his  own  people,  who  had  stood  watching 
them,  during  their  conference,  with  looks  of  mingled 
respect  and  curiosity,  and  began  addressing  them  in 
their  own  language.  As  a  matter  of  course,  Fred 
understood  not  a  word  ;  but,  from  the  savage  eyes 
that  were  every  now  and  then  turned  toward  him, 
he  judged  he  was  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

Surprise,  first,  and  then  rage,  was  depicted  on 
every  face,  while  knives  and  tomahawks  were  brand- 
ished, with  fierce  yells.  But  the  loud,  harsh  voice  of 
the  chief  made  itself  heard  above  the  din,  in  tones  of 
anger  and  command.  The  warriors  gradually  re- 
lapsed into  sullen,  dogged  silence,  while  every  eye 
was  directed  toward  the  captive,  glaring  with  con- 
centrated passion  and  disappointment. 

When  the  chieftain  ceased,  the  hermit  addressed 
the  enraged  crowd.  High  and  clear,  like  the  silvery 
tones  of  a  trumpet,  his  voice  rang  out,  soothing  the 
waters  of  passion  which  the  words  of  their  chief  had 
lashed  into  fury.  As  they  listened,  their  noisy  dem- 
onstrations of  rage  gave  place  to  low,  deep  growls 
and  sullen  mutterings,  while  they  glared  like  wild 
beasts  upon  Fred,  whose  position  at  the  stake  was 
now  almost  unbearable. 

As  he  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and  ceased 
speaking,  the  warriors  fell  sullenly  back,  and  the 
chief  himself,  leaping  over  the  burning  circle,  freed 
the  bonds  of  Fred,  and  motioned  him  to  follow.  No 
second  invitation  was  necessary  to  make  him  ^eave 
his  place  of  torture,  and  the  next  moment  he  stood 
beside  the  hermit,  who  scarcely  gave  him  a  single 
glance,  as  he  turned  again  and  addressed  the  chief. 

During  these  proceedings,  which  occupied  but  a 
few  moments,  De  Lisle  had  stood  watcliinor  them, 
like  one  who  cannot  believe  what  he  sees.     Now  he 


A  NAKKOW   ESOAPB. 


239 


advanced  to  where  the  trio  stood,  and  with  ?.  face 
perfectly  livid  with  rage  and  disappointment,  he 
turned  toward  the  hermit,  and  angrily  exclaimed  : 

"Sir,  what  means  this?  By  what  devilish  art 
have  you  bewitched  these  savages  into  giving  up 
their  prey  ?" 

*'  It  means,  sir,  that  your  evil  machinations  are 
again  defeated  by  me.  I  use  no  devilish  arts,  as 
you  well  know  ;  but  there  is  a  Power  higher  than 
that  of  man — a  Power  that  can  defeat  man's  most 
cunning  scheme,  in  its  own  good  time  !"  answered 
the  hermit,  with  grave  dignity. 

*'  Death  and  fury  !  Old  man,  cease  your  prating  !'* 
exclaimed  the  maddened  De  Lisle.  "  Though  this 
copper-colored  fool  here  has  given  him  up,  by 
Heaven  I  I  will  disappoint  you  yet,  and  you  shall 
bear  from  hence  but  a  dead  carcase."  * 

He  drew  a  pistol  as  he  spoke  ;  but,  ere  he  could 
fulfill  his  threat,  it  was  struck  from  his  hand  by  the 
chief,  who  branished  his  tomahawk  before  his  eyes 
with  a  fieroe  yell,  and  would  doubtless  have  pre- 
vented his  ever  drawing  another,  but  for  the  inter- 
vention of  the  hermit.  Motioning  De  Lisle  back 
with  a  majestic  wave  of  the  hand,  he  said  : 

'*Away,  sir!  One  word  from  me,  and  you  and 
your  band  of  cut-throats  there  will,  in  five  minutes, 
be  in  eternity  I  Though  you  can  show  no  mercy  to 
others,  mercy  shall  be  shown  to  you.  Away  with 
you  ! — your  very  presence  is  pollution  !" 

"  I  obey,  most  reverend  dealer  in  magic,"  said  De 
Lisle,  with  a  mocking  bow  and  smile,  though  his  face 
was  perfectly  ghastly  with  suppressed  passion,- "  but 
think  not,  though  you  are  triumphant  now,  you  have 
conquered  Ralph  De  Lisle.    I  swear  I  will  yet  have 


240 


A  NARROW   ESOAPB. 


mm 


!,' 


li  ^! 


n 


threefold  vengeance  on  tliee,  hoary  sorcerer,  and  on 
this  double-dyed  traitor  beside  you  !" 

With  a  fierce  exclamation  Fred  sprang  forward, 
and  De  Lisle  would  doubtless  have  been  felled  to  the 
earth,  but  the  hermit  laid  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder,  and  said,  sternly  : 

•*  I  command  you  not.  *  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith 
the  Lord,  and  I  will  repay.'  Leave  this  fiend  incar- 
nate to  a  higher  Power.     His  race  will  soon  be  run." 

*'  Ha  I  say  you  so,  good  father  ?'  said  De  Lisle, 
ironically.  "  It  may  be  so,  but  I  will  send  a  few  of 
your  particular  friends  before  me,  to  announce  my 
coming.  I  regret  leaving  such  pleasant  company, 
but  *  necessity  knows  no  law.'  I  trust  soon  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  both  again.  Until 
then  !" 

He  bowed,  lifted  his  hat,  and  with  the  same  cold, 
sneering  smile  on  his  lip,  he  turned  away.  Whisper- 
ing a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  Paul  Snowe,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  as  if  fascinated  on  the  hermit,  he  gave  his 
men  the  order  to  mount.  Ere  five  minutes  had 
elapsed,  they  were  in  their  saddles  and  away. 

"  We  must  follow  their  example,"  said  the  hermit 
to  Fred.  Then,  turning  to  the  chief,  he  spoke  a  few 
words  in  the  Indian  language,  to  which  the  other 
answered  by  a  nod  ;  and  making  a  sign  that  they 
should  follow  him,  he  turned  and  forced  his  way 
through  the  group  of  dogged-looking  warriors,  whose 
glances  toward  Fred  were  anything  but  friendly. 

Fred's  horse  was  led  forth  together  with  the  her- 
mit's. The  chief  himself  mounted,  and  gave  some 
order  to  his  followers,  upon  which  some  half  dozen 
sprang  into  their  saddles,  and  the  whole  party 
dashed  of!. 

As  they    reached,  the  summit   of   the  hill,   Fred 


A  NARROW   ESCAPE. 


241 


paused  a  moment  to  look  back.  Scarcely  eight  hours 
had  elapsed  since  he  had  stood  in  the  same  spot — 
but  how  different  were  his  feelings  !  Then  he  stood 
on  the  threshold  of  death,  with  his  deadly  foe  on  onj 
side  and  bloodthirsty  savages  on  the  other.  Now 
he  was  safe  and  free,  or  at  least  on  the  high  road  to 
freedom,  saved  by  the  same  mysterious  being  who 
had  saved  his  life  before.  All  the  events  since  his 
capture  had  passed  so  rapidly  that  he  was  almost 
tempted  to  believe  it  was  but  a  troubled  dream 
A  glance,  however,  at  his  dusky  cpmpanions  soon 
convinced  him  of  the  unpleasant  reality,  and  quick- 
ening his  pace  he  descended  the  hill,  and  bade  a 
last  and  unreluctant  adieu  to  the  Indian  village. 

Near  the  spot  where  Fred  had  been  made  captive 
their  savage  escort  left  them,  and  the  preserver  and 
preserved  went  on  their  journey  alone. 

For  a  time  they  rode  on  in  silence.  Both  were  too 
deeply  absorbed  in  thought  to  converse.  At  length 
the  hermit  looked  up  and  said  : 

"Yours  was  a  narrow  escape,  my  friend.  You 
were  indeed  literally  snatched  a  brand  from  the 
burning." 

"  And  to  you  I  owe  it,"  replied  Fred,  gratefully. 
"You  seem  fated  to  place  me  under  a  debt  of 
gratitude.  I  will  not  attempt  to  thank  you  for  sav- 
ing me  from  a  doom  so  dreadful.  No  words  of 
mine—*' 

"  I  want  no  thanks,"  interrupted  the  hermit.  "  If 
you  really  feel  grateful,  let  your  gratitude  be  inward, 
and  manifest  itself  by  actions  instead  of  words.  I 
know  the  world  too  well  to  place  much  confidence 
in  hollow  promises  !" 

"  How  did  you  discover  I  was  a  prisoner  ?"  in« 


W' 


'f 


iW'-' 


u 


i 


I 


I' 
III 


'I 


jH 


1 1  : 
1. 


1, 
1  I 


IV 


jii 


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!i:! 


'' ... 


'     '         '1 


242 


A  NARKOW   BSOAPB. 


quired  Fred,  whose  curiosity  could  no  longer  be  re- 
strained. 

"  Very  easily.  I  foresaw  danger  when  you  started, 
and  followed  you." 

"  Then  you  were  near  me  during  my  journey," 
said  Fred.  "  I  wonder  the  savages  did  not  discover 
you." 

"  I  was  near  you  at  first,  but  was  unable  to  ride 
forward  as  rapidly  as  your  party.  F'^wever,  I  fol- 
lowed your  trail,  ard  reached  the  village  a  few  hours 
after,  and  providentially  in  time   to  save  your  life." 

"It  is  most  wonderful  they  would  surrender  a  cap- 
tive at  the  stake,"  said  Fred.  "Your  powf r,  sir, 
seems  to  be  omnipotent." 

"  I  had  a  strong  claim  on  the  gratitude  of  the 
chief,"  said  the  hermit.  "  Once,  when  I  found  him 
alone,  wounded  and  almost  dying,  I  had  him  borne 
to  my  dwelling,  and  nursed  him  until  he  recovered. 
Since  then  he  has  been  anxious  to  redeem  the  prom- 
ise made  at  the  time,  to  grant  me  the  first  favor  I  ever 
asked  of  him  ;  and  as  your  life  chanced  to  be  the 
first,  he  was  forced  to  grant  it.  Besides,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile,  "  his  superstitious  followers  consider 
me  something  more  than  mortal,  and  labor  under 
the  delusion,  that  in  offending  me  they  will  draw 
upon  themselves  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit." 

"  Your  power  extends  over  more  than  superstitious 
savages,"  said  Fred,  "  my  father,  stern  and  haughty 
as  he  is,  quails  before  you,  as  he  has  never  done 
before  any  other  living  man.  Would  I  knew  the 
secret  of  your  mysterious  power  !" 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  face  of  the  hermit,  and 
when  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  unusually  low 
and  solemn:  ^ 

**  Some  day,  ere  long,  perhaps,  you  will  learn  all. 


A   NARROW   ESCAPE. 


243 


if 


Until  that  time,  rest  in  peace,  and  believe  this  mystery 
is  all  for  the  best.  I  go  now  to  my  home  on  the 
cliffs,  but  something  tells  me  we  will  soon  meet 
again." 

"Well,  let  it  be  for  joy  or  for  sorrow,  the  meeting 
will  be  welcome,"  replied  Fred  ;  "  but  why  should 
you  reside  in  that  lonely  spot — why  not  seek  a  home 
with  your  friends  ?" 

"  Friends  ?"  repeated  the  hermit,  almost  bitterly, 
"  who  in  this  selfish  world  deserve  that  sacred  name  ? 
No,  I  have  done  with  trusting  the  world  ;  my  expe- 
rience has  taught  me  how  much  reliance  there  is  to  be 
placed  in  it.  I  would  be  alone  with  nature — watch- 
ing the  mighty,  ever-moaning  sea,  listening  to  the 
wild  shrieks  of  the  wind,  or  gazing  upon  the  blue 
lightning,  I  am  happy.  I  never  wish  to  mingle  with 
my  fellow-men  more." 

"  Strange,  eccentric  being,"  thought  Fred,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  pale  face  of  his  companion,  now  lit  up 
by  enthusiasm.  "  What  strange  vicissitudes  he  must 
have  passed  through  I" 

"  What  do  you  think  now  of  my  prediction  ?"  said 
the  hermit  quietly,  after  a  few  moments'  pause. 

"  Think  ?"  replied  Fred,  "  why,  that  your  prophecy 
has  in  a  most  unpleasantly  short  time  been  fulfilled, 
and  I  must  apologize  for  ever  presuming  to  doubt 
its  truth." 

"  I  fear  still  greater  dangers  are  in  store  for  you," 
said  the  hermit,  gloomily. 

"  From  what  quarter  now  .?"  inquired  Fred. 

"  From  your  mortal  enemy,  Pe  Lisle.  There  was 
something  perfectly  fiendish  in  his  look  as  he  left 
us  ;  and  it  needs  no  soothsayer  to  tell  he  is  even 
now  plotting  against  you." 

**  Well,  it  seems  to  be  a  drawn  battle, '    said  Fre(} 


\i 


!!!■ 


244 


A   NARROW   ESCAPE. 


•^i    ! 


n 


m 


:i 


with  a  half  smile,  "  he  plotting  and  you  counterplot- 
ting. As  for  me,  I  seem  like  a  rudderless  craft 
in  the  stream  of  life,  drifting  whichever  way  the 
current  sets.  It  is  useless  striving  to  guard  against 
dangers  when  we  cannot  foresee  in  what  shape  tilicy 
may  come.  So,  my  dear  sir,  I  shall  preserve  the 
even  tenor  of  my  way,  and  place  my  trust  in  Provi- 
dence and  you  r 

"Youth  is  always  hopeful  and  blindly  trusting," 
said  the  hermit  ;  "but  Heaven  forbid  my  presenti- 
ments should  prove  true,  for  there  may  be  dangers 
worse  than  death.  Disgrace  to  you  would  be  a 
thousandfold  worse." 

"Disgrace!"  exclaimed  Fred,  almost  furiously, 
while  his  face  flushed  ;  "  who  dares  couple  my  name 
with  disgrace  ?" 

"  De  Lisle  will  endeavor  to  do  so,  rest  assured," 
said  the  hermit ;  "  there — there  is  no  need  of  looking 
so  fierce  about  it.  Do  you  imagine  there  is  anything 
iie  can  do  to  injure  you  in  the  opinion  of  the  world, 
more  especially  in  that  of  the  Percivals,  that  he  will 
not  do  ?  And,  speaking  of  the  Percivals,  I  presume 
that  is  your  present  destination." 

"  No,"  said  Fred,  "  I  go  there  no  more.  Would  to 
Heaven  I  had  never  gone  there." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  for  all  parties,"  said 
the  hermit ;  "  but  the  past  can  never  be  recalled,  and 
you  can  only  endeavor  to  atone  for  it  by  absenting 
yourself  for  the  future.  Edith's  love  for  you  has 
remained  firm  throughout,  and  will  to  the  end — for 
her  you  need  have  no  fear.  The  war  will  soon  be 
over,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  which  side  will 
be  victorious.  Major  Percival's  views  may  change  in 
time,  and  his  fair  daughter  may  yet  be  your  bride. 
Who  can  tell  what  the  future  may  bring  forth  ?" 


>Iot. 
craft 

[y  the 
(ainst 
tiliey 
|e  the 
'rovi- 

;en  li- 
ngers 
be  a 


THE  LAST  RESOLVE. 


245 


"Who,  indeed  ?'*  thought  Fred,  "  though  I  fancy 
that  prediction  is  altogether  too  good  to  prove  true." 

"And  now  farewell  !"  said  the  hermit,  when  they 
emerged  from  the  forest  road.  "  I  go  to  my  wild 
home  amid  the  cliffs,  while  you  go  to  follow  the  path 
of  glory.  It  may  be^  when  we  meet  again,  many 
things  now  hidden  in  darkness  shall  be  brought  to 
light.  When  in  danger,  remember  you  have  a  friend 
in  the  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs." 

He  turned  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  taken  by 
Fred,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


THE  LAST  RESOLVE. 


'  There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer. 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear; 
And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 
Hope,  withering,  fled— and  Mercy  sighed  farewell."  | 

—The  Corsair. 


■« 


Months  passed  away.  Hoary  winter  had  shrunk 
back  before  bright,  smiling  spring,  and  the  golden 
summer  days  were  approaching  again.  Many  excit- 
ing events  had  taken  place  since  the  circumstances 
recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  for  the  war  was  over, 
and  America  was  free. 

It  was  a  dark  sultry  night  in  June.  In  the  back 
parlor  of  an  unpretending-looking  inn  sat  two  men 
conversing.  They  were  our  old  acquaintances  Ralph 
De  Lisle  and  his  amiable  friend  Paul  Snowe, 


'V 


246 


THE   LAST   RESOLVE. 


ta  , 


"Well,  what  is  this  wonderful  plot  you  have  in 
your  wise  head  now,  De  Lisle  ?"  inquired  the  man 
Paul. 

"  A  plot  that,  like  some  great  medicines,  must 
either  kill  or  cure  !"  answered  De  Lisle  ;  "  one  that 
makes  Edith  Percival  mine  beyond  hope  of  redemp- 
tion." 

"  I  never  knew  one  of  your  plans  yet  that  you 
were  not  equally  sure  of.  Take  care  this  does  not 
prove  a  will-o'-the-wisp  like  the  rest,'  said  the  other, 
with  a  sneer. 

"No,  by  Heaven  !'*  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  setting  his 
teeth  fiercely  ;  "this  night  Edith  Percival  shall  eithei 
be  my  bride  or  that  of  death  ;  this  night  the  crisis  of 
her  fate  and  mine  has  come." 

"  Bah  !  ball  !  all  foolery,  all  child's  play  !"  said 
Paul  Snowe,  in  his  bitter,  jibing  tone.  "You  lay 
wonderful  plans,  and  see  them  slip  tlirough  your 
fingers  when  they  are  in  your  power.  This  girl,  who 
has  made  such  a  fool  of  you,  was  for  a  week  under 
the  same  roof  with  you  ;  her  lover  and  your  mortal 
foe  was  likewise  within  arm's  length  of  you.  Well, 
you  let  both  go,  let  them  give  you  the  slip,  and 
laugh  at  you  and  your  plans  in  safety." 

•  For  that  I  may  thank  your  dainty  daughter  and 
that  villainous  young  scoundrel  Joe  Smith,"  said  De 
Lisle  angrily.  "  I  should  have  liked  to  have  twisted 
her  treacherous  neck  for  her  on  my  relurn,  and  would 
have  done  so  but  for  you." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  ot  it,"  said  Paul,  deliberately 
filling  a  glass  of  brandy  ;  "  but  you  well  know  you 
are  too  completely  in  my  power  to  play  any  of  your 
tricks  off  on  me.  What  would  you  do  if  I  took  a 
fancy  to  split  some  day,  and  let  all  out  ?'* 

*^  If  you  would"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  his  face  grow- 


THE   LAST   RESOLVE. 


247 


ing  absolutely  livid  with  rage  as  he  drew  a  pistol,  "  I 
would—" 

"  What  ?"  said  Paul  Snowe,  with  his  cold,  deriding 
smile,  as  his  leader  paused. 

"  Shoot  you  like  a  dog  !"  hissed  De  Lisle  th:  )ugh 
his  clenched  teeth. 

"  Two  could  play  at  that  game,  my  worthy  cap- 
tain," said  the  man,  carelessly,  touching  a  long  knife 
he  wore.  "  If  I  took  a  fancy  for  perching,  there 
would  be  a  slight  obstacle  in  the  way  of  your  shoot- 
ing me — something  like  this."  And  Paul  made  a 
peculiar  motion  under  his  left  ear,  indicative  of  hang- 
ing. 

'*  Villain  !"  said  De  Lisle,  "  there  was  a  time  when 
you  would  not  dare  to  be  thus  insolent.  But  boast 
away  ;  I  fear  you  not ;  you  are  too  careful  of  your 
own  precious  jugular  to  risk  it  by  such  an  experi- 
ment. I  fancy  when  Ralph  De  Lisle  swings,  Paul 
Snowe  will  keep  him  company." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Well,  it's  a  comfort  to  think  the 
world  will  wag  just  as  merrily  when  we  are  gone. 
There  will  be  few  tears  shed  over  our  grave — eh, 
captain  ?" 

"  You  forget  your  affectionate  daughter,"  said  De 
Lisle,  sneeringly. 

"  Oh  !  Elva  ?  She  will  be  better  without  me  ;  but 
for  her  sake  I  will  avoid  Jack  Ketch  as  long  as  pos- 
sible. But  to  change  the  subject,  which  is  getting 
rather  personal  when  you  talk  of  hanging  :  how  do 
you  propose  to  abduct  Miss  Percival  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  abduct  her,  my  good  friend  ;  she  must 
come  with  me  of  her  own  free  will,  or  not  at  all." 

"  Faith  !  you're  getting  mighty  particular.  I've 
seen  the  time  you  weren't  so  choice,  and  was  glad  to 
get  her  by  hook  or  by  crook." 


t 


i\  I 


'll 


It.! 


!■ 


248 


THE   LAST  BESOLYE. 


"  Yes  ;  but  that  time  has  passed  ;  and  my  proud 
Lady  Edith  shall  sue  to  me  now  as  I  have  heretofore 
done  to  her.  Love  and  hatred,  worthy  Paul,  are 
nearly  akin.  Next  to  myself,  I  loved  that  girl  better 
than  anything  on  earth.  Well,  she  jilted  me  for  this 
dashing  rebel — or  patriot  I  suppose  I  should  say 
l^now,  since  they  have  triumphed — and  I  hate  her  now 
with  an  intensity  far  surpassing  any  love  I  ever  felt 
for  her.  JVow  I  would,  as  far  as  love  is  concerned,  a 
thousand  times  rather  marry  your  pretty  daughter 
Elva  than  she." 

"  Much  obliged  for  the  honor,"  said  Paul,  dryly. 
"  But,  in  the  name  of  my  *  pretty  daughter  Elva'  I 
beg  respectfully  to  decline  the  illustrious  alliance." 

De  Disle  smiled  scornfully,  but,  without  noticing 
his  words,  went  on  : 

"  Affection,  therefore,  you  see,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  my  wish  to  make  Edith  Percival  my  wife. 
Hatred  and  revenge  are  my  sole  motives.  She 
loathes  the  very  sight  of  me,  I  know  ;  and  there  is  no 
other  means  by  which  I  can  punish  her  for  it  so  well. 
Her  lover,  too — Master  Fred — will  feel  it  more  than 
anything  else  I  could  possibly  do.  Therefore,  these 
are  my  reasons  for  wishing  to  marry  pretty  Edith." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  ask  you  for  your  reasons,"  said 
Paul.  "  I  don't  take  so  much  interest  in  either  of 
you.  You  say  you  are  going  to  make  her  marry  you. 
Now,  how  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?" 

**  Listen  !"  said  his  friend,  with  a  sardonic  smile. 
**  I  have  learned  that  my  quondam  lady-love  has 
taken  a  fancy  to  a  sick  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
visits  her  very  often.  A  brother  of  the  invalid — a 
child  of  nine — goes  for  her  when  wanted.  This  little 
fellow  I  told  to  meet  me  to-night  at  a  place  I 
appointed,  but  I  have  not  yet  told  him  what  I  want 


THE   LAST   BESOLVI. 


249 


I  think  !  can  manage  to  induce  him  to  bring  Edith 
out.  I  will  meet  her—  urge  her  to  fly  with  me — and 
if  she  persists  in  refusing — " 

"  Well,  and  if  she  does  ?"  said  the  man,  looking 
up. 

"  /  will  stab  her  to  the  heart  T  exclaimed  De  Lisle, 
in  a  fierce,  hoarse  whisper,  while  his  eyes  glittered 
with  a  demoniacal  light. 

Paul  Snovve  drew  hack  involuntarily  at  the  strange, 
wild  expression  on  his  companion's  face.  There 
was  a  look  almost  of  horror  on  his  face  as  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  No,  no  ! — devil  as  you  are,  you  would  not  mur- 
der an  unoffending  girl  !*' 

"  Ha,  ha  ! — Paul  Snowe  turned  preacher  !"  mocked 
De  Lisle.  **  When  was  it  your  conscience  became  so 
tender,  honest  Paul  ? — since  the  night  your  Spanish 
knife  let  the  moonlight  through  Dandy  Dan's  back- 
bone  for  calling  you  a  liar — eh  ?" 

"  Perdition  seize  you  !  Hush  !"  exclaimed  Paul, 
growing  pale.  "  I  meant  not  to  dissuade  you  from 
it  ;  but  it  will  be  discovered,  and  then  we  will  swings 
you  know." 

"  Well,  it's  swing  with  us  any  way,  sooner  or 
later.  One  may  at  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a 
lamb,  Paul,"  said  De  Lisle,  recklessly. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Paul,  turning  uneasily  in  his 
chair,  and  draining  another  glass  of  brandy.  "  But 
Where's  the  use  of  being  so  desperate  ?  You  ought 
to  take  precautions." 

"  So  I  have,  my  honest  friend.  If  it  does  come  to 
the  worst,  I  think  I  have  arranged  matters  in  such  a 
manner  that  all  the  blame  will  fall  on  the  shoulders 
of  that  meddler,  Fred  Stanley." 

"  Ha  !  you  have  ? — in  what  way  ?'* 


;  >1 


i 


i'l  W:    '  '  ' 


n 


•  5  !'      ■ 


li  r 


■    ,. 


t 


!l 


250 


THE   LAST    RESOLVE. 


"  This  dagger  belongs  to  him  ;  I  saw  his  name 
engraved  on  it  ;  and,  thinking  it  might  be  useful  to 
me,  I  took  charge  of  it.  About  three  hours  ago,  I 
saw  him  parting  w'th  Major  Percival,  and  the  major 
foaming  and  scolding  like  an  enraged  washerwoman. 
Shortly  after,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  left  the  vil- 
lage in  hot  haste.  Now,  if  the  major's  daughter  is 
found  mur — well,  you  know  what  I  mean — to-morrow 
morning,  with  /ir's  dagger  somewhere  near,  that  cir- 
cumstance, taken  in  connection  with  his  quarrel 
with  the  major,  and  subsequent  flight  from  the 
village,  will,  without  doubt,  place  the  worthy  youth's 
neck  in  a  tight  place,  and  convince  the  world  gener- 
ally, and  his  admirers  particularly,  that,  after  all  his 
escapes,  he  was  born  to  be  hanged  in  the  end." 

There  was  a  wicked  and  most  sinister  cmile  on  De 
Lisle's  lips,  a  glittering  light  in  his  evil  eyes,  that 
involuntarily  made  Paul  Snowe,  hardened  in  crime 
though  he  was,  draw  back  in  horror.  There  was 
something  so  fearfully  cold-blooded  in  the  manner 
in  which  he  unfolded  his  diabolical  plot,  that  his  lis- 
tener placed  his  ha?:d  on  the  'alt  of  his  knl^e,  and 
looked  for  a  moment  into  De  Lisle'r  gleaming  eyes  in 
silence. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  demanded  De 
l,isle,  at  length. 

**  Think  !"  repeated  Pau)  ;  "why,  that  if  there  ever 
was  a  riend  incarnate  on  earth,  you  are  one  !" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  Well,  no  matter  for  that.  Do  you  not 
think  my  plan  a  safe  one  }" 

"  I  neither  know  nor  care,  Ralph  de  Lisle.  If  you 
are  safe  yourself,  all  right ;  if  ycu  are  not  safe,  all 
right  likewise.  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
diabolical  plans  ;  therefore,  as  I  said  before,  I  neithef 
know  nor  care  whether  you  are  safe  or  not.* 


»t 


yftE    LAST   RESOLVE. 


^l 


**  Insolent  villain  !"  exclaimed  De  Lisle,  springing 
fiercely  to  his  feet  ;  "  you  shall  repent  this  !" 

"  Hands  off,  De  Lisle  !"  said  Paul,  boldly  confront- 
ing him.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  Commit  your 
own  murders  for  the  future  ;  I  will  have  no  more  to 
do  with  such  a  cold-blooded  assassin." 

For  a  moment,  De  Lisle  glared  upon  him  like  a 
wild  beast ;  but  the  bold  eye  of  Paul  Snowe  quaili  J 
not  beneath  his  burning  gaze.  Seeing  how  little  he 
was  feared,  De  Lisle  changed  his  tactics,  and  throw- 
ing himself  back  in  his  chair,  he  said,  with  a  forced 
laugh  : 

"  Well,  we  won't  quarrel,  Paul  ;  we  have  been 
friends  too  long  to  part  in  anger,  and  especially 
about  such  a  trifle." 

"  I  never  was  friend  of  yours,  Captain  De  Lisle," 
said  Paul,  doggedly.  "  Villainy  bound  us  together  ; 
but  the  link  of  crime  is  very  different  from  that  of 
friendship." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way,'*  said  De  Lisle,  with 
affected  carelessness,  as  he  replaced  the  dagger  within 
his  vest.  "  And  now  I  see  by  yonder  time-piece  that 
'tis  time  I  was  keeping  my  appointment  with  little 
nine-year  old.     You'll  wait  for  me  here,  of  course  ?" 

"  No,  I  won't !"  was  the  short,  sharp,  and  decisive 
reply.  "  I  have  waited  for  you  too  long,  as  I  may 
yet  find  out  to  my  cost.  You  and  I  part  to-night, 
De  Lisle,"  continued  Paul  Snowe,  rising,  and  taking 
his  hat.  "  I  intend  leaving  the  country  as  soon  as 
possible  ;  and,  if  you  wish  to  avoid  the  hangman, 
you  will  follow  my  example,  and  let  Edith  Percival 
alone.  Don't  turn  so  white  about  the  gills,  man ; 
I  won't  peach.  But  you  know,  however  long  the  foK 
may  run,  he'll  be  caught  by  the  tail  at  last.  So,  as 
we  are  parting,  I'll  take  a  last  glass  with  you,  ia 


i! 


I 


lik 


i 


It* 


m  ' 


252 


THB  OLD  HOUeE  ON  THX  BLUFF. 


memory  of  old  times.  Here's  wishing  you  long  life 
and  an  escape  from  the  halter." 

**  I'll  drink  no  such  toast  !"  said  De  Lisle,  biting 
his  lips  to  keep  down  his  increasing  anger.  "  Here  3 
to  the  bright  eyes  of  your  daughter  Elva." 

"So  be  it  then,"  said  Paul,  refilling  his  glass; 
"  and  on  those  same  bright  eyes  y<m  will  never  look 
again,  my  susceptible  friend.  Good-nigh i,  Ue  Lisle, 
and  luck  be  with  you." 

He  turned  and  quitted  the  room.  De  Lisle  looked 
after  him  with  an  evil  smile  as  he  muttered  : 

"  Say  you  so,  worthy  Paul  ?  That  remains  to  be 
seen.  And  now  for  the  drama  of  the  evening.  Shall 
it  be  a  tragedy  or  a  farce  ?  Well,  ere  midnight  I  will 
know." 

He  drank  deeply,  as  if  to  nerve  himself  for  what 
was  approaching  ;  and  then,  muffling  himself  in  his 
cloak,  and  drawing  his  hat  down  over  his  brow,  he 
quitted  the  obscure  inn,  and  disappeared  in  the 
gloomy  night. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  OLD  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF. 

••  A  willing  messenger — Crime's  ready  tool— 
A  thing  of  flesh  and  blood  that  may  be  bought 
And  sold  like  vilest  merchandise." 

The  sky  was  dark  and  overcast  with  storm-threat- 
ening clouds.  The  moon  struggled  feebly  on  her 
way,  shedding  a  sickly,  watery  light  over  the  earth. 
The  wind  had  been  rising  all  the  evening,  and  now 
blew  chili  and   raw,  accompanied  by  a  thin,  light 


THE  OLD  H0U8B  ON  THB  BLUFF. 


253 


iie 


drizzle.  Lights  were  twinkling  here  and  there 
through  the  village  as  De  Lisle  passed  along ;  but 
there  were  few  abroad — a  circumstance  he  rejoiced 
lest   he  should  be  discovered.     Those  wlio   did 


at. 


meet  him  as  they  hurried  homeward,  paused  to  stare 
in  surprise  at  the  tall,  dark,  muffled  figure  which 
strode  along  as  though  gifted  with  the  famous  seven- 
league  boots. 

Faster  and  faster  he  walked  ;  for,  half  mad  with 
excitement,  he  strove  to  lose  memory  in  the  rapid 
motion.  His  head,  hot  and  throbbing,  felt  as  though 
it  would  burst.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and,  lean- 
ing a^i;ainst  a  tree,  took  off  his  hat  that  the  cool 
breeze  miglit  relieve  him.  His  long,  dark  locks 
streamed  vvildty  in  the  wind  behind  him,  and  his 
heart  throbbed  so  loudly  that  every  pulsation 
sounded  like  the  stroke  of  a  sledge-hammer.  His 
hands  were  red  with  blood — his  soul  dark  with 
crime  ;  but  never  had  he  meditated  so  dreadful  a 
murder  as  weighed  on  his  heart  to-night.  The  shad- 
ows, a^  they  flitted  by,  looked  to  his  heated  imagin- 
ation like  spectres  rising  from  the  grave  to  warn  him 
back. 

The  village  clock  struck  nine.  He  started  at  the 
sound,  and,  unable  to  remain  longer  inactive,  started 
on  more  rapidly  than  before.  As  he  walked,  he  sud- 
denly lifted  his  head,  and  beheld  the  churchyard  be- 
fore him.  To  reach  the  place  where  the  boy  was  to 
meet  him,  he  must  pass  it.  The  tombstones  gleamed 
white  and  ghastly  in  the  dim  light.  How  they 
seemed  to  glare  upon  him  with  their  cold,  pale  eyes! 

He  shuddered,  and  hurried  on  faster  than  ever. 
His  rap  id  walking  soon  brought  him  to  the  place  of 
rendezvous  ;  it  was  an  old  deserted  house  on  the 
black  hill-side,  known  as  the  Barn  on  the  Bluff.     It 


254 


THE  OLD  nOUSK  ON  THE  BLUTF. 


!  i  4' 


had  been  untenanted  for  many  a  day,  and  was  only 
used  as  a  shelter  for  sheep  on  stormy  nights.  No 
other  house  was  near  it  on  any  side.  It  stood  alone, 
black,  grim,  and  dismal — a  fit  place  for  the  dark 
scene  it  was  to  witness  that  night. 

A  boy  of  about  nine — a  vacant-eyed,  stupid-faced 
urchin — stood  shivering  beside  one  of  the  broken 
windows,  and  endeavoring  to  peer  out  into  the 
gloom.  Hearing  approaching  footsteps,  he  started 
from  his  corner,  and  met  De  Lisle  in  the  doorway. 

"  If  you'd  stayed  much  longer,  I  wouldn't  a 
waited,"  said  the  boy,  rather  sullenly.  "  Why  didn't 
you  come  sooner?" 

"  It's  time  enough,"  said  De  Lisle.  "  Do  you 
think  you'll  find  Miss  Percival  at  home  now  ?" 

"  Be  sure  I  will,"  replied  the  boy.  "  They've  a 
party  to-night,  and  she'll  be  sure  to  be  there." 

"A  party  !"  muttered  De  Lisle  ;  "  that  defeats  all 
my  plans.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before,  you 
young  rascal.  She  won't  come  with  you  if  they 
have  a  party." 

"  Yes  she  will,  too,"  said  the  boy.  "  She  did  it 
afore,  and  she  told  our  Harriet  any  time  she 
wanted  her  she'd  come,  and  oo  bother  about  it." 

"  Well,  will  you  go  and  tell  her  your  sister  is 
dying,  or  any  other  lie  that  you  think  will  be  likely 
to  bring  her  here.  See,  I  will  give  you  this  gold 
guinea  now,  and  a  dozen  when  you  come  back." 

"  Will  you,  though  ?"  exclaimed  the  boy,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  delight. 

"  Yes,  if  you  bring  her  here  alone.  Mind,  don  t 
tell  her  there  is  a  man  waiting  for  her  here.  You 
have  to  pass  this  Bluff  on  your  way  home,  have  you 
not  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  there's  another,  shorter  way.** 


'.  ,ii 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF. 


265 


"Oh!  well,  don't  mind  the  shorter  way.  Bring 
her  here — alone,  mind — alone.  Do  you  think  tiiere 
is  any  danger  of  her  being  accompanied  by  any 
one  ?" 

*'  No,  I  guess  not  ;  she  often  came  with  me  alone 
to  see  Harriet  as  late  as  this." 

'*  Oh  !  very  well,  then  ;  go  now  and  don't  be  long. 
Remember,  if  you  bring  Miss  Percival  here  alone, 
you  shall  have  my  purse  upon  your  return." 

"All  right,"  answered  the  boy,  touching  his  cap, 
as  he  quitted  the  old  house  and  bounded  down  the 
hill. 

Folding  his  arms  across  his  breast,  and  drawing 
his  cloak  closer  around  him,  De  Lisle  leaned  against 
the  broken  doorway,  and  strove  to  still  the  wild 
tumult  within,  and  think.  Think!  how  could  he 
think  with  heart  and  brain  burning  and  throbbing 
with  such  a  blinding  intensity  of  pain.  His  face  was 
deadly  pale,  his  eyes  inflamed  and  blood-shot,  his 
lips  dry  and  parched  A  horror,  nameless  and 
hitherto  unfelt,  was  stealing  over  him.  It  was  as  if 
some  dread  calamity  were  hovering  over  his  own 
head. 

All  was  profoundly  still.  The  lights  in  the  village 
below  were  going  out  one  by  one,  as  the  simple  vil- 
lagers retired  to  rest,  little  dreaming  of  him  who 
leaned  silent  and  alone  in  the  old  house  with  such  a 
tumultuously  throbbing  heart.  The  wind  wailed 
dirge-like  through  the  trees,  and  at  intervals 
the  harsh,  ominous  croak  of  a  raven — that  evil  bird 
of  night — as  it  flew  past,  would  break  upon  his  ^ar, 
startling  him  like  a  galvanic  shock. 

"Would  this  night  were  over  !"  he  muttered,  tf k- 
ing  off  his  hat,  and  shaking  back  his  black  loci  ^. 
"  Am  I  turning  coward«  that  I  quake  thus  at  ev6  ? 


II  ;,| 


256 


THB  OLD  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF. 


^m 


1 . 


I! 


I  i 


sound  ?  Ralph  De  Lisle,  courage,  man  !  'Tis  but  a 
girl  more  or  less  in  the  world,  and  there  is  no  one  to 
know  it." 

No  one  to  know  it  t  A  stray  gleam  of  moonlight 
breaking  through  the  clouds,  fell  on  his  face  white 
as  that  of  the  dead,  but  lighted  up  with  such 
intensely  burning  eyes.  No  one  to  know  it !  A  still 
small  voice,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  and  silent  for 
many  a  j'ear,  rang  out  with  one  word,  clea.r  and  dis- 
tinct. A  host  of  memories — memories  of  his  almost 
forgotten  childhood — rushed  back  to  his  mind. 
Again  he  felt  his  mother's  gentle  hand  straying  amid 
his  hair ;  her  soft  voice  whispering,  as  she  passed 
from  earth  :  **  Love  and  fear  God,  my  son,  and  meet 
me  in  heaven."  How  reproachfully  her  loving  eyes 
rose  before  him  nov/.  Again  in  fancy,  he  wandered, 
hand  in  hand  with  E  lith,  as  he  had  often  done  in 
childhood,  or  lay  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  while  she 
sang  for  him  the  sweet  "  Evening  Hymn,"  and  he 
thought  the  sky  not  half  so  blue  and  beautiful  as  her 
eyes.  Words  he  had  long  forgotten  came  again  to 
his  mind  ;  the  simple,  earnest  prayer  he  had  said  in 
his  boyhood,  night  and  morning,  like  some  wander- 
ing strain  of  music  rose  to  his  lips.  It  was  the  last 
struggle  between  good  and  evil  in  his  heart.  His 
better  nature  seemed  for  a  moment  to  prevail.  He 
turned  to  quit  the  old  house,  when  the  image  of  Fred 
Stanley  arose  before  him.  The  struggle  was  past — 
he  stayed.  His  good  angel  covered  her  bright  face 
and  wept,  and  Ralph  De  Lisle  was  forever — ^lost  t 


r 


CAUGHT  IN  THE  8NABB. 


S67 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CAUGHT     IN     THE     SNARE. 

1  *Tis  done  I    I  saw  it  in  my  dreams- 
No  mere  with  hope  the  future  beams. 

My  days  of  happiness  are  few : 
Chilled  by  Misfortune's  wintry  blast. 
My  dawn  of  life  is  overcast ; 
Love,  hope,  and  joy  alike  adieu ; 
Would  I  could  add  remembrance,  too  t" 

— Byron. 

Percival  Hall  was  all  aglow  with  light  and  radi- 
ance, music  and  mirth,  feasting  and  festivity.  The 
lofty  rooms  were  crovi^ded  with  the  numerous  friends 
of  the  family  for  the  last  time,  for  Major  Percival  had 
announced  his  intention  of  departing  for  England  in 
a  few  weeks,  to  reside  there  permanently. 

Weary  with  dancing.  Edith  had  quitted  the  ball- 
room and  sought  refuge  in  the  conservatory.  The 
gay  sounds  of  music  and  dancing  came  to  her  ear 
Softened  and  mellowed  by  the  distance. 

Seating  herself  in  a  shadowy  corner,  her  golden 
hair  falling  like  a  glory  around  her,  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  while  her  thoughts  wandered 
far  away.  She  felt  sad  and  out  of  spirits,  and  in  no 
mood  to  join  the  gay  revelers.  She  was  about  to 
leave  her  home  for  the  shores  of  "  Merrie  England," 
to  leave  many  whom  she  loved,  and  who  loved  her, 
behind  her.  She  thought  of  Fred,  but  no  longer 
with  hope.  At  her  father's  command,  they  parted 
^orever.     Unable  longer  to  resist  the  temptation,  he 


258 


CAUGHT  IN  THB   8NABB. 


had  sought  the  village,  and  they  had  one  interview. 
The  major  discovered  it,  and  a  few  hours  before, 
they  had  parted  after  an  exceedingly  stormy  inter- 
view, and  she  had  been  sternly  forbidden  ever  to  see 
or  speak  to  him  again. 

Therefore  Edith  sat,  sad  and  silent,  with  tears 
slowly  filling  her  deep-blue  eyes,  and  falling  un- 
heeded on  her  white  hands.  Tears  for  him,  tears 
for  herself,  and  a  weight  heavy  and  oppressive  on 
her  heart. 

The  entrance  of  a  servant  roused  her  from  her  sad 
reverie.  The  girl  paused  as  she  approached  her,  and 
Edith  looked  up  inquiringly  : 

"  If  you  please.  Miss,  little  Eddy  Dillon's  out  here. 
He  says  his  sister  Harriet  sent  him  with  a  message 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  dear  little  Harriet  !  I  hope  she  is  not  worse. 
Where  is  he,  Betty  ?  I  must  see  him  immediately," 
said  Edith,  forgetting  her  own  sorrows  to  listen  to 
those  of  others. 

"  Down  here  at  the  hall-door.  Miss,"  said  Betty. 
And  Edith  flew  past  her  and  ran  down  to  the  hall- 
door,  where  stood  little  Eddy,  cap  in  hand. 

"  Oh,  Eddy  !  how  is  Harriet?"  exclaimed  Edith, 
breathlessly. 

"  A  great  deal  better — I  mean  worse.  Miss  Edith," 
said  Eddy  ;  "  don't  expect  she'll  live  till  to-morrow, 
nohow." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Poor,  little  Harriet !  Oh,  Eddy  I 
why  didn't  you  come  for  me  before  ?"  said  Edith. 

**  Cause  I  was  busy,"  said  Eddy,  scratching  his 
head,  as  he  composedly  uttered  the  lie.  "  But  she 
wants  to  see  you  now,  if  you're  agreeable." 

**  Certainly,  I'll  go.  Betty,  bring  me  my  hood 
and  mantle,"  said  Edith,  promptly. 


OATJOHT  IN  THB  SNABB. 


259 


"Oh,  Miss  Edith!  I  wouldn't  go  to-night,  if  I 
was  you.  It's  going  to  rain,  I'm  afraid,  and  the 
company  — " 

"  Betty,  you  musn't  talk  so.  Do  you  think  any 
such  selfish  consideration  would  make  me  refuse 
that  dear  child's  dying  request  ?  Bring  me  my  hood 
and  cloak  immediately." 

Betty  disappeared  to  obey  her  ;  and  turning  to 
Eddy,  Edith  began  inquiring  so  eagerly  about  this 
sudden  dangerous  turn  in  his  sister's  illness,  that 
the  good  yo'jJ^^h,  not  having  a  stock  of  lies  manu- 
factured for  the  occasion,  got  quite  bewildered. 
Betty's  re-appearance  with  the  desired  articles  re- 
lieved him  from  his  dilemma,  as  she  threw  the  cloak 
over  Edith's  shoulders  and  tied  on  her  hood. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  let  me  or  one  of  the  others  go 
with  you  ?"  said  Betty.  "  It's  powerful  lonesome 
going  along  alone." 

"  Oh  !  no,  thank  you  ;  I'll  do  very  well.  Eddy 
and  I  have  often  went  alone  on  the  same  errand  to 
see  poor  Harriet." 

"  What  will  I  say,  if  any  one  asks  for  you,  Miss  ?" 
called  Betty  after  her. 

"  You  may  tell  mamma  where  I  have  gone  ;  and 
if  any  one  else  asks  you,  refer  them  to  her.  Come, 
Eddy,  I  am  all  ready." 

They  went  down  the  steps  together,  and  started  at 
a  rapid  walk.  The  clouds  were  slowly  breaking 
away,  and  the  moon  rode  in  silvery  radiance  through 
the  star  studded  dome.  The  cool  night  breeze 
brought  a  bright  flush  to  Edith's  pale  cheek  and  a 
clearer  light  to  her  blue  eyes,  as  she  tripped  lightly 
along,  thinking  of  **  dear  little  Harriet,"  and  almost 
envying  her  for  being  freed  from  earth  so  soon. 
Master    Eddy,   too,  was  thinking — a  very  unusual 


''I  1 


260 


OAUOHT  IN  THE  SNARE. 


i 


i 


I  *i 


thing  for  him,  by  the  way — and  which  never  occurred, 
save  on  an  nnusual  occurrence  like  the  present.  He 
was  wondering  what  the  tall,  dark  man  could  want 
with  her,  and  whether  he  had  acted  quite  right  in 
deceiving  her  as  he  had  done.  Unable  to  solve  this 
knotty  problem,  he  placed  his  band  in  his  pocket 
where  it  encountered  and  closed  upon  a  guinea, 
which,  in  a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time,  removed 
all  his  scruples,  just  as  it  would  those  of  an  older 
person.  The  recollection  of  the  twelve  he  was  to  get 
on  his  return,  clinched  the  argument,  and  Master 
Eddy  lifted  his  head  and  walked  along  in  the  proud 
consciousness  of  having  discharged  his  duty  as  a 
man  and  a  Christian  should.  Having  heard  the  vil- 
lagers talk  over  the  story  of  Miss  Edith's  rebel  lover, 
he  concluded  this  mutt  be  he  come  to  hold  a  clan- 
destine interview  with  h'^r. 

"Why  are  you  taking  this  roundabout  way  .^ 
asked  Edith,  as  her  companion  turned  in  the  directiot 
of  the   bluff.     "  The  other  path  is  much  shorter." 

"Yes,  I  know  it;  but  the  other  road's  muddy  , 
'taint  so  good  as  this,"  said  Eddy,  rather  at  a  loss 
for  a  suitable  lie.     "  This  ain't  much  longer,  either." 

"Oh,  very  well  !"  said  Edith  ;  "only  hurry,  I  am 
so  anxious  to  see  Harriet." 

Both  walked  on  rapidly,  and  in  silence,  until  they 
reached  the  dark  bluff. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  Edith,  as  Eddy 
began  to  ascend. 

"  I  left  something  up  in  the  old  barn,  I  must  go 
after.     Come  with  me  ;  I  don't  like  to  go  alone." 

Unconscious  and  unsuspecting,  Edith  followed  him 
up  the  steep  hill-side.  The  bright  moonlight  shone 
full  upon  the  deserted  barn,  and  showed  it  in  all  its 
dreary  loneliness 


M  4 


CAUGHT  IN   THB  SNABB. 


261 


«♦  What  a  dismal  place  !"  thought  Edith  ;  •*  it  looks 
wilder  and  drearier  to-night  than  I  ever  remember 
to  have  seen  it  before.  How  ghastly  those  moulder- 
ing walls  look  in  the  cold  moonlight  !" 

Within  the  shadow  of  those  walls,  how  little  did 
she  dream  that  he  whom  she  dreaded  most  on  earth 
stood  watching  her  Rapidly  she  followed  her  young 
guide,  whose  steps  were  quickened  by  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  reward,  promised  on  his  return. 

A  tall,  dark  figure,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  stepped 
from  within  the  shadow  of  the  doorway,  and 
approached  them.  Something  in  his  height  and 
air,  reminded  her  of  Fred,  and,  filled  with  the  idea 
that  he  had  again  sought  her  to  bid  her  a  final  adieu, 
she  sprang  forward,  exclaiming  breathlessly  : 

"  Fred  !  Fred  !  can  this  be  you  ?" 

He  raised  his  hand,  and,  pointing  to  the  lady,  made 
a  motion  for  her  to  be  silent.  Then,  slipping  the 
promised  reward  into  his  hand,  he  whispered, 
sternly  : 

"  Go  !" 

"  Oh,  Fred  !  this  is  very  rash  I"  said  Edith,  as  the 
boy  bounded  down  the  hill-side  and  disappeared. 
*•  What  would  papa  say  if  he  knew  of  this  ?" 

"Hist!"  said  De  Lisle,  disguising  his  voice  in  a 
hurried  whisper  ;  "  come  in  here  V* 

He  drew  her  arm  v<;ithin  his  ;  and,  half  bewildered 
by  this  sudden  meeting,  she  scarcely  realized  his 
meaning  until  she  stood  with  him  in  the  old  deserted 
house.  He  released  her  arm,  and  stood  between  her 
and  the  door,  his  hat  still  hiding  his  face,  so  tall,  so 
still,  so  motionless,  that  he  looked  like  some  dark 
statue. 

"  Fred,  is  this  you  ?"  said  Edith,  a  wild  thrill  of 
<ear   shooting  throufrh  her  b<tart,  at   his    strange 


;  :W    ' 


l< 


I'l' 


!;[|| 


I 


f 


■I" ' 


*    : 


262 


THE  CATASTROPHE. 


silence.  The  long  cloak  that  muffled  him  fell  off, 
he  slowly  raised  his  hat,  and  she  beheld  the  pale, 
fierce  face,  and  intensely  burning  eyes  of  her  dreaded 
foe,  Ralph  De  Lisle. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   CATASTROPHE. 

••  Murder  most  foul — as  in  the  best  it  is- 
But  this  most  foul,  strange,  and  unnatural." 

Shakespeare. 

Stunned,  bewildered,  giddy,  the  wild  shriek  of 
mortal  fear  that  quivered  on  the  lips  of  Edith  died 
away,  as  she  met  those  fierce  dark  eyes  she  dreaded 
most  on  earth  fixed  upon  her  with  such  a  fiery, 
serpent-like  gaze. 

She  grew  dizzy,  and  gasped  for  breath  ;  for  there 
was  a  look  more  of  a  demon  than  o*  a  man  on  the 
face  before  her.  Alone  with  him  in  that  deserted 
house,  too  far  from  the  village  for  her  cries  to  reach 
human  ears — nothing  but  Heaven  could  save  her 
now.  All  the  dangers  of  her  appalling  situation 
burst  upon  her  at  once.  A  dimness  stole  over  her 
eyes — the  sound  of  many  waters  was  in  her  ears — 
her  heart  throbbed  like  the  muffled  beating  of  a 
drum,  and  she  would  have  fallen,  had  she  not 
grasped  the  wall  for  support. 

"  I  see  you  have  not  forgotten  me,  Edith,"  were  his 
first  words,  spoken  with  cold,  bitter  sarcasm.  **  When 
last  we  parted,  you  had  decidedly  the  advantage  of 


THE   0ATA8TB0PHE. 


263 


ine ;  now,  the  tables  have  turned,  and  Edith  Per- 
cival  is  again  in  my  power." 

She  strove  to  speak  ;  but,  though  her  lips  moved, 
she  could  not  article  a  word. 

'*  You  mistook  me  for  Fred,"  he  went  on,  in  the 
same  mocking  tone  ;  "  'tis  a  wondrous  pity  you  were 
disappointed.  You  need  never  call  on  him  again. 
This  night  is  the  crisis  of  both  our  lives.  For  what 
purpose,  do  you  think,  I  have  had  you  brought 
here  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Edith,  speaking  in  a  voice  yet 
faint  from  terror. 

"  Listen,  then  :  this  night  you  must  either  consent 
to  be  my  bride,  or  you  will  never  live  to  see  the  sun 
rise  again  !" 

His  face  wore  the  look  of  a  fiend — his  glittering 
eyes  were  fixed  on  her  face  ;  his  voice  sounded  low, 
hoarse,  and  unnatural  in  that  dreary  room. 

Her  lips  parted — her  eyes  dilated  with  horror  ;  her 
face  was  deadly  white,  but  no  cry  escaped  her.  Her 
very  heart  seemed  for  a  moment  to  stand  still  at  his 
appalling  words,  and  then — the  courage  that  had 
never  been  hers  was  granted  her  in  that  dreadful 
moment.  In  her  awful  peril,  fear  and  horror  alike 
passed  away,  and  a  feeling  of  intense  loathing  and 
lofty  scorn  for  him  who  stood  before  her  took  its 
place.  Drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  she 
shook  back  her  golden  hair,  and  fixing  her  large  blue 
eyes  full  on  his  face,  she  said,  in  a  voice  whose  very 
calmness  startled  even  herself: 

"  My  life  you  may  take,  for  it  is  in  your  power ; 
but  I  would  die  a  thousand  deaths  sooner  than  be 
bride  or  ought  of  thine  !" 

Her  fearless  words  and  undaunted  manner  were 
so  unexpected  that  he  started  back  apace,  and  stood 


I 


264 


THE   CATA8TB0PHB. 


I     HI 


i    I 


h:^ 


n, 


Pi 


'    ,        I. 

I  '   I- 


rcgai  *in^  ii  .r  !n  -iieni  wonder.  It  was  but  for  a 
moment,  ar  i  M  :  f^  ^i  within  his  heart  was  aroused 
into  fury  tenfola  grea;      than  before. 

"  And  you  dare  defy  me  thus  I"  he  said,  setting 
his  teeth  hard  together.  "  Beware  !  your  life  hangs 
but  by  a  thread." 

'*  I  know  it  ;  but  death  is  preferable  to  being  the 
wife  of  a  demon  incarnate,  such  as  you  !" 

His  face  grew  livid  with  diabolical  passion,  and  he 
grasped  her  by  the  arm  so  fiercely  that  she  could 
scarcely  repress  a  cry  of  pain. 

"  Consent  to  be  my  wif  or  by  all  the  fiends  in 
flames,  this  shall  enter  your  heart  !"  he  hissed,  as  he 
brandished  the  gleaming  dagger  before  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Ralph  De  Lisie,  lay  not  the  weight  of  this 
dreadful  crime  on  your  soul,  I  conjure  you  !"  ex- 
claimed Edith,  laying  her  small  white  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  looking  up  in  his  face  with  her  earnest 
eyes  :  *'  by  the  memory  of  the  past,  when  you  were 
vQung  and  guiltless,  I  implore  you  to  spare  my  life  ! 
Think  of  the  remorse  you  will  endure  for  this  awful 
crime  in  days  to  come  !  Oh,  Ralph,  Ralph  !  by  the 
love  you  bore  for  me  once,  commit  not  the  fearful 
sin  !  Think  of  the  eternal  woe  pronounced  against 
the  murderer  hereafter,  and  have  mercy  upon  your- 
self !" 

The  thrilling,  the  intense  solemnity  of  her  tone 
awed  even  his  heart  of  stone.  Like  some  wandering 
strain  of  music  it  broke  upon  his  ear,  and  for  a 
moment  he  paused,  appalled  at  the  magnitude  of 
the  crime  he  was  about  to  commit.  But  his  evil 
mentor  whispered  in  his  ear  :  "  It  is  too  late  to  re- 
treat"— and  the  chord  she  had  touched  no  longer 
vibrated. 


THE  OATASTBOPHB. 


265 


•*  Vou  prate  in  vain  !*'  he  exclaimed  ;  **  once  again, 
I  ask  you,  will  you  be  my  wife  ?'* 

*'  Never — never  I" 

He  paused,  as  if  to  work  his  fee!ir"*s  up  to  the 
most  intense  pitch  of  maddening  ex*,  te  -int.  His 
whole  frame  quivered,  and  his  gliast  fa  was  con- 
vulsed by  rage. 

"For  the  last  time  I  ask  you,  Eiiti  P'rcival,"  he 
said  in  a  voice  hoarse  and  chokerf  "  wUi  you  marry 
me  or  die  ?" 

''  Iwilldier 

Her  words  fell  clear  and  distinct  in  the  deep  silence 
of  tlie  lonely  night.  Foaming  with  rage,  he  drew  the 
slender,  glittering  knife,  and  plunged  it  up  to  the 
hilt  in  her  side  ! 

The  hot  blood  spurted  up  in  his  face.  With  one 
wild  cry  of  mortal  agony,  she  fell  to  the  ground. 

De  Lisle  stood  above  her,  ghastly  and  paralyzed 
by  the  awful  deed.  With  one  last  effort,  she  rose  on 
her  elbow,  fixed  her  dying  eyes  on  his  face,  and  drew 
out  the  dagger.  A  torrent  of  blood  flowed  over  her 
snowy  hands,  and  dyed  with  crimson  the  floor 
around.  Her  white  lips  parted,  but  no  sound  came 
forth — her  eyes  grew  glazed  and  sightless,  and  she 
fell  back,  stiff,  and  cold  and  lifeless. 

And  there,  in  the  light  of  the  solemn  stars,  in  the 
lonely  silence  of  the  night,  the  fearful  tragedy  had 
been  enacted.  The  cold  glare  of  the  moonlighc, 
streaming  through  the  broken  casement,  fell  softly 
and  pityingly  on  the  still  form  that  lay  on  the 
ground.  The  golden  hair  fell  over  her  face,  but  the 
wild,  despairing  eyes  seemed  still  fixed  on  the  face 
of  her  murderer,  as  he  stood,  like  one  turned  to 
stone,  above  her.    Her  white  festal  garments  were  red 


266 


THE  OATASTBOPHB. 


/ 


i    ' 


.  ■^ 


;^ 


I       !! 


with  blood,  and  one  little  hand  still  held  the  dagger, 
dyed  with  the  same  dreadful  hue. 

De  Lisle  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  feeling  as 
though  he  neither  lived  nor  breathed.  Everything 
danced  red  and  fiery  before  his  eyes — his  brain  and 
heart  seemed  rending  in  twain.  Heaven  of  heavens  ! 
how  those  dying,  despairing  eyes  seemed  glaring 
upon  him  ! 

Maddened,  frenzied,  crazed,  he  turned  to  rush 
from  the  building.  His  foot  struck  against  some- 
thing, and  he  stumbled.  He  glanced  down,  and  saw 
it  was  the  fatal  dagger.  With  a  fearful  oath,  he 
hurled  it  from  him  over  the  craggy  bluff,  and  fled 
out  into  the  open  air. 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  pressed  his  hands 
heavily  to  his  burning  temples,  that  throbbed  madly 
beneath  his  fingers.  His  eyes  were  like  burning 
coals — his  lips  were  hot  and  parched,  and  his  hands 
trembled  as  though  he  were  stricken  with  the  palsy. 
The  night-wind  seemed  to  shriek  in  his  ear,  "  Mur- 
derer." Ringing — ringing  through  heart  and  brain, 
was  that  last  dying  cry,  until  he  stopped  his  ears  in 
agonized  horror. 

In  all  that  tempest  of  remorse  and  terror,  arose 
before  him  the  oft-spoken  words,  "  What  next  ?" 

What  should  he  do?  Whither  should  he  go? 
His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  from  that  dreadful 
spot,  and  fly — fly  far  from  the  world,  far  from  his 
fellow-men,  and  far  from  himself.  One  other  idea 
filled  his  mind  :  it  was,  to  destroy  the  evidence  of 
his  crime — to  burn  the  old  house  and  what  it  con- 
tained. He  could  not  endure  to  see  it  standing 
there,  so  dark  and  ghastly,  seeming  to  mock  him  in 
bis   agony  of  remorse.     There  was  a  pile  of  loose 


.■'1 

■I-  H 


i 


THE  CATASTROPHE. 


267 


brushwood  near.     He  set  it  on  fire,  and  paused  to 
gaze,  as 

"  fierce  and  high 

The  death-pile  blazed  unto  the  sky/' 


How  red  and  fiery  the  flames  looked  !  Were  they 
too,  tinged  with  blood  ? 

He  knew  the  place  would  soon  be  surrounded, 
and  he  dare  not  pause  to  see  his  dreadful  work 
accomplished.  Like  one  pursued  by  a  demon,  he 
fled,  and  paused  not  until  he  had  gained  the  village. 
There  was  no  one  astir  ;  all  were  buried  in  peaceful 
repose,  unconscious  of  the  awful  crime  that  had  just 
been  committed.  How  the  murderer  envied  them  as 
he  flew  past. 

He  paused  not  until  he  had  gained  his  own  room, 
and  locked  himself  in.  A  flask  of  brandy  stood  on 
the  table.  Glass  after  glass  of  the  fiery  liquid  he 
drained,  to  drown  recollection  ;  but  all  in  vain — all 
in  vain  !  Those  dying  eyes — that  despairing  cry — 
that  last  imploring  gaze,  were  before  him  still ;  and 
he  paced  up  and  down  the  room  like  a  maniac,  not 
daring  to  pause  one  moment  in  his  rapid  walk. 

"  Fire  !     Fire  !" 

The  cry  ran  through  the  streets,  and  roused  him 
into  action.  All  was  bustle  and  confusion.  Men 
were  rushing  through  the  streets  toward  the  scene 
of  the  tragedy.  He  could  not  endure  this  dreadful 
inaction  longer.  Opening  the  door,  he  left  the  inn, 
and  mingling  with  the  crowd,  rushed  toward  the 
burning  house. 

Amid  all  that  crowd,  no  one  strove  so  zealously  to 
extinguish  the  flames  as  he.  In  the  wild  excitement, 
there  was  no  time  to  think,  and  he  worked  as  though 
his  very  life  depended  on  it.    All  their  efforts  were, 


( 


I 


Mil 


] 


268 


THB  CATASTROPHE. 


»  i 


fi 


however,  vain — higher  and  higher  rose  the  flameSf 
rearing  tlieir  heads,  red  and  fiery,  into  heaven,  until 
De  Lisle  almost  fancied  tliey  were  crying  for  ven- 
geance on  him. 

Suddenly  a  bright  slicet  of  flame  shot  into  the 
cloudless  sky — the  next  moment  there  was  a  loud 
crash,  as  the  whole  building  fell,  a  mass  of  red,  fiery 
ruijis,  to  the  ground. 

De  Lisle  felt  as  though  the  sight  was  leaving  his 
eyes,  as  he  witnessed  that  last  act  in  the  fearful 
tragedy  of  the  night.  The  people  wondering  how 
the  fire  could  have  originated,  were  hurrying  to  their 
homes.  He  dared  not  venture  to  go  with  them  ; 
for,  in  his  excitement,  he  fancied  every  one  could 
read  "  murderer  "in  his  face.  He  turned,  and  plunged 
into  the  dark  pine  woods,  scarcely  knowing  whither 
he  went,  only  striving  to  escape  from  himself  and  his 
haunting  remorse.  He  could  hear  that  cry  as  the 
wind  wailed  like  a  lost  spirit  through  the  trees — he 
could  see  those  imploring  eyes  still  before  him,  wher- 
ever he  went.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  to  shut 
them  out,  but  all  in  vain — they  were  still  before  him  : 
so  mournful,  so  beseeching,  so  sadly  reproachful. 

"  Oh,  that  this  night  were  over  !"  he  said,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  heated  brow.  "  What  have 
I  done,  that  I  should  be  tortured  thus  ?  Oh,  for  the 
waters  of  Lethe,  to  drown  maddening  memory ! 
Sliall  I  never  again  know  peace  ? — can  I  never  escape 
from  myself  ?" 

Through  the  dim,  solemn  woods  he  paced  until 
morning.  The  red  sunlight  gilded  with  golden  glory 
the  green  tree-tops,  and  the  murderer  shrank  from 
its  bright,  keen  gaze  like  the  guilty  thing  that  he 
was.     He  hurried  to  his  roomii,  drained  glass  after 


NEXT   MORNING. 


269 


glass  of  brandy,  and  then  flung  himself  on  his  bed. 
to  lose  the  recollection  of  what  he  had  done,  in 
feverish  sleep. 


CHAPTER     XXVIII. 


NEXT     MORNING. 


"  And  over  all  there  hung  a  baleful  gloom — 
The  step  stole  fearful  though  each  shadowy  room. 
Dark,  sumptuous,  solemn  as  some  Eastern  pile 
Where  mutes  keep  watch — a  home  without  a  smile. 

BULWER. 


The  red  light  of  coming  morn  dispersed  the  revel- 
ers from  Percival  Hall.  One  by  one  they  departed, 
until  where  lately  all  was  music  and  mirth,  profound 
silence  reigned. 

And  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister,  all 
slept,  little  dreaming  of  the  fate  of  her  they  loved. 
Du  ing  the  night,  when  the  gay  hours  flitted  by  on 
"rosy  wings,"  no  presentiment  of  what  was  passing 
in  the  lonely  house  on  the  Bluff  arose  before  ihem 
to  mar  tlieir  festivity.  And  now,  all  uuconscious  of 
her  absence,  or  her  dreadful  fate,  they  'lept  peace- 
fully. 

"Where  is  Edith?"  asked  Major  Percival,  as  the 
family  assembled,  a  few  hours  after,  around  the 
breakfast-table. 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Nell,  to  whom 
the  question  was  addressed;  "I  haven't  seen  her 
since  early  last  night." 

"She    was   not    among   the   dancers   during   the 


I.!   1         I    •( 


tirU 


1 1 


i'  < 


^ii.' 


ii: 


tit  t 


.'tf^  •: 


„,|.V      ,, 


ikm 


••I'll 


270 


NEXT  MORNINOu 


morning,"  remarked  Giis  ;  "  I  missed  her,  and 
heard  several  wondering  at  her  absence." 

"  Strange,"  said  the  major,  frowning  slightly. 
"  What  must  our  guests  have  thought  ?  Edith  has 
acted  very  strangely  of  late." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  ill,"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  anxiously. 
"Tell  one  of  the  servants,  Ellen,  to  go  up  io  her 
room  and  see." 

"  I'll  go  myself,"  said  Nell,  rising,  and  hurriedly 
leaving  the  room. 

In  a  few  moments  she  re-appeared,  and  with  a  look 
of  alarm,  announced  that  Edith  was  not  in  her  room 
and  that  her  bed  had  not  been  slept  in  at  all  that 
night. 

"  Where  can  she  be  ?"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed,  '*  Good  Heaven!  something 
must  liavc  happened." 

"  Ring  the  bell,  and  see  if  any  of  the  servants 
know,"  said   the  major,  more  angry  than  frightened. 

Nell  obeyed,  and  in  a  moment  Betty  made  her 
appearance. 

*' Have  you  seen  Miss  Edith  this  morning?" 
demanded  her  master,  as  she  entered. 

"  This  morning?     "^To,  sir." 

*'  Do  you  know  where  she  is  ?"  said  the  major, 
for  the  first  time  beginning  to  feel  slightly  alarmed. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  little  Eddy  Dillon  came  here  for  her 
last  night,  saying  his  sister  Harriet  was  dying,  and 
wiched  to  see  her.  She  went  with  him,  and  bade  me 
tell  you,  ma'am,  but  I  found  no  chance." 

"  Oil,  then,  she's  safe  enough,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  major,  while  Mis.  Percival  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  though  relieved. 

A.t  Uiis  moment,  Nugent  sauntered  carelessly  in. 


.  M 


WEXT  MORNING. 


271 


\\ 


"Well,  good  folks,  have  you  heard  the  news?"  ho 
asked,  throwing  himself  indolently  on  a  lounge. 

"  No — what  news  ?"  said  Nell. 

"Why,  the  old  barn  on  the  Bluff  was  burned  down 
last  night,"  said  Nugent. 

"  Burned  down  !  it  must  have  been  the  work  of  an 
incendiary,  then,"  said  his  father. 

"  Doubtless  it  was,  though  I  cannot  see  what  could 
have  been  the  object  for  which  it  was  done,"  replied 
his  son. 

**  Some  mischievously-inclined  person,  who  wished 
to  rouse  the  villagers,"  suggested  Gus. 

"  Very  likely  ;  'twas  fit  for  nothing  but  a  bonfire. 
Where's  Edith  ?" 

"At  the  Widow  Dillon's." 

"  The  Widow  Dillon's  !  Why,  she  hasn't  been 
there  since  yesterday  morning." 

"  JV/iatr 

"  She  has  not  been  there  since  yesterday  morning," 
said  Nugent,  decidedly  ;  "  I  was  going  past  there 
about  half  an  hour  ago,  ani  Mrs.  Dillon  called  me 
in  to  see  her  little  girl.  Harriet  begged  me  to  tell 
Edith  to  come  to  her  immediately,  and  Mrs.  Dillon 
said  she  had  been  longing  for  her  since  she  had  been 
there  yesterday  morning." 

"  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?"  said  the 
major,  rising  hurriedly,  while  Mrs.  Percival  grew 
pale  with  terror.  "  Her  son  came  iieia  for  Edith 
last  night,  and  they  both  departed  together." 

"  She  must  have  left  him  then,  sir,"  said  Nugent, 
"for  she  certainly  did  not  accompany  him  home. 
He  was  in  the  cottage  while  I  was  there,  and  made 
no  mention  of  her  having  started  with  him  ;  neither 
did  the  widow  allude  to  her  having  sent  for  Edith  at 
all.    And  now  I  recollect,  she  said  she  would  have 


i 

1 


273 


.NEXT  MOBNIira. 


5 '. 


wi" 


I  I 


I   ! 


senl  for  her  last  night,  but  on  account  of  the  ball, 
she  thought  she  would  not  trouble  her." 

*'  Oh,  Major  Percival,  something  dreadful  has  hap- 
pened," said  Mrs.  Percival,  rising  in  great  agitation  ; 
"  I  feel  it !  I  know  it  !  She  has  been  carried  off 
again,  and  we  shall  never  see  her  more  !" 

"  Nonsense,  Mrs.  Percival  !  She  is  doubtless 
somewhere  in  the  village,"  said  the  major,  conceal- 
ing his  own  alarm.    "  I  will  go  in  search  of  her." 

"  Let  me  accompany  you,"  said  Nugent,  springing 
up ;  for  the  many  dangers  Edith  had  recently 
escaped,  made  them  doubly  anxious. 

Both  quitted  the  house  together,  and  walked  rap- 
idly in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

"  I  fear  there  may  be  danger,  father,"  said  Nugent, 
uneasily  ;  '*  the  whole  affair  seems  rather  myste- 
rious." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  said  his  father,  hurriedly  ;  "  but 
we  must  see  this  boy  with  «vhom  she  departed,  and 
learn  what  has  happened  from  him." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  until  they  reached  the 
widow's  humble  cottage.  Mrs.  Dillon  met  them  in 
the  doorway,  looked  alarmed  and  excited. 

"  Oh,  Major  Percival,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  ! 
Just  look  here,"  and  the  widow  displayed  a  purse 
filled  with  bright,  gold  guineas. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Dillon,  what  piece  of  good-fortune  is 
this  you  have  met  with  ?  You  haven't  robbed  a 
bank,  I  hope,"  said  young  Percival. 

"  No,  indeed,  Mr.  Nugent,"  said  the  widow,  anx- 
iously. "  'Twas  Ag  brought  this  home."  And  she 
pointed  to  where  sat  her  hopeful  son  and  heir,  with 
his  finger  in  his  mouth,  looking  doggedly  on  the 
ground. 

"  Eddy  ;  why,  man  alive,  where  did  you  get  all  this 


HEXT  MORMIKO. 


273 


money  ?*'  said  Nugent,  giving  him  a  shake.  "  Look 
up,  sir.     Have  you  turned  highwayman  ?'* 

The  boy  sat  in  sulky  silence. 

"  I'm  terribly  afeared  he  stole  it,"  said  th*»  widow, 
in  evident  distress  ;  "  he  won't  tell  where  he  got  it, 
and  I  know  he  never  came  honestly  by  it." 

"  This  is  serious,"  said  the  major,  and  wust  be 
seen  to.  "  See  here,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  said, sternly, 
"  where  did  you  get  this  money  ?  Have  you  stolen 
it?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  steal  it,"  said  the  boy  sullenly. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  then  ?  Answer  me,  or  I'll 
have  you  committed  to  prison,"  said  the  major  with 
increasing  sternness,  in  order  to  intimidate  him. 

Eddy  looked  up,  and  seeing  the  inflexible  look  on 
the  face  bending  over  him,  burst  into  tears. 

"Come,  my  little  man,  don't  cry,"  said  Nugent, 
patting  him  on  the  head  ;  "  tell  the  truth,  and  noth- 
ing shall  be  done  to  you.     Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"  The  man  gave  it  to  me,"  sobbed  Eddy. 

*•  What  man  ?"  inquired  Percival. 

"  The  man  wot  told  me  to  bring  Miss  Edith  to 
the  bluff,  last  night." 

"  What  /"  exclaimed  the  major,  catching  him  so 
fiercely  by  the  arm,  that  the  boy  uttered  a  cry  of 
pain. 

"  Father,  be  calm,'*  said  Nugent,  though  his  own 
face  grew  deadly  pale,  "  we  must  hear  all  the  partic- 
ulars, and  if  you  frighten  him  so,  he  will  not  speak. 
Begin  now  at  the  first,  Eddy.     Who  was  this  man  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — he  didn't  tell  me  his  name,"  re- 
plied Eddy. 

"  Can  you  describe  him  ?    What  did  he  look  like  ?" 

•*  He  was  tall  and  dark,  with  black  hair  and  whis- 


374 


VEXT   MOBNIMO. 


I 


kers,  and  wore  a  long  black  cloak.     I   couldn't   see 
his  face  'cause  his  hat  was  pulled  away  down." 

"When  did  you  meet  him  first  ?" 

"  Yes'day  evening.  He  asked  me  if  Miss  Edith 
didn't  visit  Harriet,  an'  I  said  yes  ;  and  then  he  told 
me  to  meet  him  on  the  bluff  at  nine  o'clock,  and  that 
he  would  pay  me  well." 

"  Did  you  go  ?"  asked  Nugent,  growing  more  and 
more  excited. 

**Yes,  I  went  and  waited  for  him  in  the  old  barn. 
He  came  and  told  me  to  go  up  to  the  Hall,  and  say 
Harriet  wanted  Miss  Edith — and  then  bring  her  to 
him  and  he'd  pay  me — I — " 

The  boy  paused,  and  glanced  in  terror  at  the  agi* 
tated  face  of  the  major. 

"Go  on,"  said  Nugent,  hoarsely. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  tlie  boy,  again  beginning  to  cry. 

"Go  on,  go  on,  go  on  !"  said  the  younger  man,  im- 
patiently ;  "  no  one  shall  touch  you.  Did  you 
obey  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  went  up  to  the  ball  and  Miss  Edith  came 
with  me.  She  ran  forward  when  she  saw  the  man, 
and  called  him  Fred^  and  he  gave  me  this  money  and 
told  me  to  go,  and  as  I  ran  down  hill,  I  heard  her 
.voy  :  *  Oh^  Fred,  this  is  very  rash  !'  and  then  she  went 
with  'lim  into  the  old  house." 

Father  and  son  gazed  into  each  other's  faces,  pale 
With  •». idefinef!     error. 

'•  Wei),  whnt  else  ?"  said  Nugent,  almost  giddy 
with  strr-nge  apprehension. 

"Then  I  come  home,"  went  on  the  boy,  reluc- 
.  r.titly  ;  "  but  I  wanted  to  hear  who  he  was,  and  what 
he  was  going  to  do.  So  I  came  back  and  stood 
where  I  could  see  them  without  they  seeing  me.  I 
couldn't  see  his  face,  'cause  he  had  hijs  back  turned, 


NEXT  MOBNING. 


275 


but  I  could  hear  them  talking.  He  asked  her  to 
go  with  him  and  marry  him,  or  something,  and  she 
said  she  wouldn't,  and  then — "  Again  the  boy 
paused,  and  covered  his  face  with  a  shudder. 

"  Well,  d!«d^  M<?«,"  said  Nugent,  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  husky  and  unnatural. 

"  He  got  awfully  angry,  and  took  out  a  long  knife  ; 
and  I  got  frightened  and  ran  away,"  said  the  boy, 
trembling  at  the  recollection. 

Nugent  paused  for  a  moment  to  master  the  emo- 
tions that  threatened  to  unman  him.  Then,  with  an 
effort  at  calmness,  he  said  : 

"  And  what  followed  next  ?" 

"  I  went  home  and  went  into  bed,"  continued 
Eddy,  "  until  I  heard  them  singing  out  *  fire,' and 
then  I  got  up  and  went  to  the  bluff,  and  the  barn  was 
burning.  I  saw  the  man  in  the  crowd,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  speak  to  him,  he  seeme  so  wild-like. 
When  the  barn  was  all  burned  awn,  the  peo- 
pie  went  away,  and  I  saw  him  go  f 
and  that's  all  I  know." 

"Merciful    Heaven!"    exclaime 
back,  as  though  stunned  by  a  h 
murdered  r 

"  And  Fred  Stanley  is  her  murderer,"  said  the 
major,  in  a  voice  so  deep  and  unearthly,  that  it 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

"  It  cannot  be  !  it  cannot  be  I  it  is  monstrous  ! 
impossible !  absurd  !"  exclaimed  Nugent,  in  wild 
excitement.  "  Fred  Stanley  could  never  be  an 
assassin  !" 

"I  tell  you  he  has  murdered  her,"  said  his  father, 
in  a  tone  of  concentrated  fierceness  ;  "  and  by  the 
heaven  above  us,  his  life  shall  pay  for  hers.    An  eye 


nto  the  woods, 

Nugent,  reeling 
blow,  •'  Edith  is 


(  •      ( 


Ml:    f 


276 


NEXT  MOBNIKO. 


for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  and  a  life  for  a  life  !** 
he  cried,  rushing  madly  from  the  house. 

Nugent  followed  ;  and  feeling  the  necessity  for 
calmness  and  firmness  in  the  dreadful  crisis,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  arm  and  arrested  his  flying 
steps. 

"  Father,  I'ather !  be  calm  !  be  calm  for  Heaven's 
sake !  Think  of  my  mother,  if  she  sees  you  thus, 
and  h'^ars  this  news ;  the  shock  will  kill  her.  For 
her  sake  compose  yourself  and  be  calm.** 

*'  Calm,  sir !  dar£  you  talk,  of  calmness  when 
my  daughter  has  been  foully  assassinated  ?  Oh, 
Edith  I  my  child  !  my  child  !  I  will  not  think  of 
mourning  for  thee  until  I  have  had  vengeance  on  thy 
murderer  !" 

"  Father,  ii  is  impossible  that  Fred  Stanley  has  been 
guilty  of  this  dreadful  deed.  I  will  never  believe  it!" 
cried  Percival,  excitedly.  "A  nobler  heart  nevei 
beat  within  the  breast  of  man  than  his." 

"  Who  else  is  there  to  have  done  such  an  act  ?** 
said  the  major,  passionately  ;  "  did  we  not  part  in 
anger  a  few  hours  before  I  tell  you  there  was  mur- 
der in  his  flashing  eyes,  as  I  watched  him  ride  away. 
You  heard  how  it  occurred.  He  urged  her  to  fly 
with  him.  She,  dreading  my  anger,  refused,  and  no 
doubt  maddened  by  her  resistance,  he  slew  her  on 
the  spot.  Oh,  my  daughter  !  my  daughter  !  why 
was  I  not  near  to  save  you  from  so  dreadful  a  fate  !" 

He  wrung  his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud  in  bitter 
anguish. 

"  But  the  villain  shall  meet  his  doom,"  he  again 
exclaimed,  with  the  old  fierceness  flashing  in  his 
eyes  ;  "  this  very  day  shall  he  be  arrested  !" 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  until  they  reached  the 
foot  of  the  bluff. 


NEXT  MORNINO. 


877 


"  Let  us  visit  the  scene  of  the  tragedy,'*  said 
Nugent,  as  they  paused  for  a  moment  to  contemplate 
the  heap  of  black,  smoking  ruins. 

They  turned  to  ascend.  Scarcely  had  they  gone  a 
dozen  steps,  when  the  major's  eye  fell  on  something 
bright  gleaming  among  the  rocks.  He  stooped  to 
pick  it  up,  and  started  back  with  a  cry  of  horror. 

It  was  the  fatal  dagger,  red  with  still  undried 
blood.  As  he  turned  it  over,  his  eye  fell  on  the 
name  engraven  on  the  handle — Frederic  Stanley." 

"Just  Heaven  !  how  wonr^;'  ful  is  thy  retribu- 
tion !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  hai.  'i:d  the  knife  to  his 
son.  "  With  this  fatal  blade  the  deed  was  done,  and 
the  murderer's  name  is  on  it.  In  the  excitement  of 
the  moment,  he  has  cast  it  away  and  forgot  it." 

Pale  with  horror,  Nugent  examined  it.  He  had 
often  see.i  the  dagger  with  Fred  ;  it  had  been  given 
him  by  his  father  in  his  boyhood,  and  was  prized  as 
his  gift.  To  doubt  his  guilt  longer,  seemed  out  of 
the  question,  and  yet  how  could  he  believe  him  guilty. 
Fred  Stanley,  so  brave,  so  generous,  so  noble-hearted, 
guilty  of  so  dreadful  a  crime.  Oh,  never,  never ! 
The  thought  was  too  unnatural  to  be  entertained. 

They  stood  at  length,  gazing  with  feelings  impos- 
sible  to  describe  on  the  smoldering  remains  of  the 
fire.  There  Edith  had  been  slain,  and  her  body  had 
perished  amid  the  flames. 

It  was  with  very  different  feelings  they  stood  gaz- 
ing upon  the  charred  and  smoking  ruins.  In  Major 
Percival's  breast,  above  every  other  feeling,  was  the 
fierce,  burning  desire  for  vengeance.  He  could 
scarcely  think  of  sorrow,  so  intense  was  his  desire 
for  revenge  ;  it  seemed  an  injustice  to  her  memory 
to  allow  her  murderer  one  moment  longer  to  burden 
the  earth.     Hanging  seemed  a  thousand  times  too 


\- 


I'  '    • 


mM 


!    I 


ii 


IM! 


I     ;         i 


Si 


I] 


278 


NEXT   MORNinO. 


good  for  him,  and  he  would  have  given  worlds 
to  see  him  broken  on  the  wheel,  tortured  on  the  rack, 
or  roasted  at  a  slow  fire  for  the  crime  he  had  com- 
mitted. 

In  Nugent's  heart,  horror  for  his  sister's  dreadful 
fate,  a  feeling  of  remorse  that  he  had  not  been  near 
to  save  her,  were  mingled  with  agonizing  doubts, 
whether  or  not  to  believe  Fred  Stanley  guilty.  One 
moment,  he  almost  hated  himself  for  believing  him 
capable  of  such  an  action  ;  and  then  the  startling 
train  of  circumstantial  evidence  would  arise  before 
him,  until  there  seemed  no  longer  room  for  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  Amid  all  this  war  of  conflicting 
emohons,  neither  of  them  suspected  Ralph  de  Lisle, 
whom  they  imagined  far  away. 

"Ha!  what  have  we  here?"  exclaimed  Nugenl, 
suddenly,  as  a  portion  of  a  blue  scarf  caught  his  eye, 
lying  under  a  charred  and  broken  stick.  He  picked 
it  up.  Both  recognized  it  as  one  Edith  had  worn 
that  fatal  night.  It  was  of  rich,  blue  silk,  embroidered 
with  silver  fringe,  and  now  more  than  half  burned. 
It  was  spotted  with  blood,  and  near  the  end  was  a 
hole,  exactly  such  as  would   be  made  by  the  dagger. 

"  It  is  but  another  proof  of  his  guilt,"  said  the 
major,  in  a  low,  thick  voice.  **  Oh,  Edith  !  Edith  ! 
but  there  is  no  time  for  mourning !  When  Justice 
is  satisfied  there  will  be  time  enough  for  tears." 

His  eyes  were  burning  and  tearless,  his  face  was 
deadly  pale,  but  there  was  a  look  of  fierce  determina« 
tion  in  his  face. 

As  they  re-enter*  the  village,  they  were  met  by 
the  bust    "     little      u  Jord  of  the  inn. 

"Ah  !  i^  >d  morning.  Major  Percival  I  good  morn- 
ing, Mr  Nugent !  fine  day  this  ;  been  up  to  the  fire, 
I  s'pose  ;  qtieer  thing  that,  queer  thing.     S'pose  you 


HEXT  MORNING. 


279 


if 


haven't  seen  anything  of  a  tall  fellow  in  a  black 
cloak,  and  hat  over  his  face,  hey  ?" 

"What  of  him?"  said  Nugent,  with  breathless 
interest. 

"  Oh,  nothing  !  nothing  !  only  he  came  here  late 
last  night,  and  ordered  a  room  ;  then  went  out  and 
didn't  come  in  till  after  midnight.  Two  or  three 
minutes  after,  he  was  off  to  the  fire,  and  since  then 
nobody's  seen  him.  Funny  chap  !  went  off  without 
paying  the  reckoning,  and  drank  more  brandy  than 
I  like  to  think  of.  Good  morning  !"  And  the  land- 
lord bustled  away. 

Major  Percival  hurried  to  the  nearest  magistrate, 
to  make  a  deposition  ol  the  case,  and  obtain  a  war- 
rant for  the  arrest  of  Fred  Stanley.  Nugent,  finding 
the  task  of  anviouncing  the  dreadful  news  devolved 
opon  him,  hastened  home — stunned  and  bewildered, 
like  one  who  walks  in  a  dream. 

Gently  as  he  broke  the  news  to  them,  the  effect 
was  terrible.  Mrs.  Percival  fell  into  violent  convul- 
sions, and  was  carried  to  her  room.  Nell  grew 
deadly  white,  and  such  a  feeling  of  sickness  came 
over  her,  that  for  a  moment  she  was  on  the  verge  of 
fainting.  But  when  she  heard  Fred  accused  as  the 
murderer,  indignation  restored  her  to  herself,  and 
she  exclaimed,  vehemently  : 

**  I'll  never  believe  it — never,  never  !  I  would  as 
soon  credit  it,  Nugent,  if  they  said  you  did  it  your- 
self. Oh,  how  dreadful  !  how  dreadful  ! — to  think 
we  were  all  here,  dancing  and  enjoying  ourselves, 
and  Edith  lying  cold  and  dead,  without  one  friend 
near  to  aid  her  !  Oh,  Edith,  Edith,  Edith  I  my 
dearly-beloved  sister  !** 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  wept 
so  hysterically  that   both    Nugent    and    Gus   were 


.  .i 


ru 


i  •♦  i 


(  >     r 


#11 


pi  ?! 


i 


'  f 
i 


Wil 


■it 


%■■ 


11^ 


•■t.       " 


fit  I     ■)    .       '- 


280 


VKZT  MORHUro. 


alarmed.  The  latter  en'teavored  to  console  her; 
but  she  pushed  him  away,  saying  : 

**No,  no  !  let  me  alone  !  Oli,  Edith,  Edith  !  my 
murdered  sister  1" 

And  all  through  that  day  she  wandered  about  the 
gloomy  house,  wringing  her  hands  and  repeating 
that  dear  name — her  pale  face,  disheveled  hair,  and 
disordered  dress,  giving  her  the  look  of  one  insane. 
It  was  a  silent  and  gloomy  mansion,  indeed.  The 
servants,  pale  with  horror,  stole  about  as  noiselessly 
as  ghosts  through  the  house,  still  as  the  grave,  save 
when  a  wild  shriek  from  the  darkened  room  of  Mrs. 
Percival  would  reach  their  ears.  And  Nell  wandered 
vacantly  about,  twisting  her  pale  fingers  and  repeat- 
ing, **  Edith  !  Edith  !" — seeing  but  one  object :  the 
murdered  form  of  her  sister. 

Through  the  village  the  news  had  spread  like  wild- 
fire. Men  were  gathered  in  groups  at  every  corner, 
talking  over  the  tragic  occurrence  ;  women  forgot 
their  household  affairs  to  speak  of  the  goodness  of 
the  murdered  girl,  and  weep  over  her  untimely  fate 
— for  Edith  was  universally  beloved.  People  spoke 
of  it  in  low  whispers,  for  the  whole  affair  seemed 
wrapped  in  mystery.  Never  had  such  a  thing  been 
heard  of  before  in  that  quiet  little  village ;  and  they 
almost:  held  their  breath,  as  they  wondered  whose 
turn  it  would  be  next. 


THIS  AJOLMT, 


2Sl 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE   ARREST. 


"  And  yet  he  seems  not  overcome, 
Although  as  yet  his  voice  be  dumb." 

In  the  little  parlor  of  the  "  Bottle  and  Bowl  "  sat 
Fred  Stanley.  He  was  stretched  at  full  length  on  a 
lounge,  leisurely  smoking  a  cigar,  and  listening  to 
the  merry,  ringing  voice  of  Mrs.  Rosie  Wilde,  as  she 
alternately  scolded  the  servants,  laughed  with  the 
neighbors,  and  talked  to  the  baby.  And  while  he 
indolently  watched  the  blue  smoke  wreathing  up- 
ward,  Fred  was  thinking. 

He  thought  of  Edith,  and  wondered  if  he  should 
ever  see  her  dear  face  again  ;  of  her  stern  father 
and  his  invincible  antipathy  to  himself  ;  of  his  hated 
rival,  Ralph  De  Lisle  ;  of  his  father,  who  was  on  the 
eve  of  departure  for  England,  and  whom  he  had 
never  seen  since  the  night  he  liberated  him  ;  of  the 
mysterious  Hermit,  and  wondered  what  new  dinger 
was  destined  lo  bring  them  face  to  face  ;  and  lastly, 
of  himself,  as  yet  undecided  what  to  do  or  whither 
to  go. 

The  quick  tramp  of  a  horse's  feet  dashing  down 
the  street  arrested  his  attention.  The  horseman 
drew  up  and  alighted  at  the  inn  door.  Fred  fancied 
his  form  was  familiar ;  but  he  stood  undecided, 
until  he  heard  the  new-comer  pronounce  his  name  in 
quick,  hurried  tones.  The  next  moment,  the  door 
was  thrown  violently  ooen,  and  Gus  Elliott,  pale, 
haggard,  dusty,  and  travel-worn,  burst  into  the  room. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1^  |28     |2.5 

2?  BA    W 


us 

u 
u   ,_ 


140 


2.2 
= 

1.8 


m 


1.25   |||.4 

16 

^ _. 

6"     

► 

HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


:j4 


282 


THE  ABBEST. 


li-#i,:     i'i 


m  !' 


"  Gus,  my  dear  fellow  !  is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed 
Fred,  springing  up  and  grasping  his  hand.  "  But," 
he  added,  seeing  his  despairing  face,  *'  what  in  the 
world  has  happened  ?" 

Gus  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  face.  He  could  read 
nothing  tliere  but  frank  astonishment.  Would  a 
guilty  man  act  and  look  thus  ?  His  doubts,  if  he 
entertained  any,  vanished  in  a  moment  ;  and  wring- 
ing the  hand  his  friend  extended,  he  exclaimed  : 

**  Oh,  Fred  !  then  you  have  not  heard  ?  How  can  1 
tell  you  the  dreadful  story  !" 

"  WAa(  dreadful  story  ?  My  dear  Gus  sit  down  and 
compose  yourself.  You  look  as  though  you  were 
insane." 

"  Do  I  ?  I  may  well  look  insane.  You,  too,  will 
look  insane,  when  you  have  heard  my  story." 

"  Then  let  me  hear  it." 

"  Oh,  Fred  !  my  business  here  is  very  painful — 
painful  in  the  extreme  !" 

'*  Then,  my  dear  Gus,  let  me  advise  you  to  get  it 
over  as  soon  as  possible.  The  longer  you  hesitate, 
the  worse  it  will  be,"  said  Fred,  resuming  his  seat 
on  the  lounge. 

"  Have  you  no  idea  of  what  my  errand  is  ?  I  come 
from  Percival  Hall." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Fred,  inquiringly. 

Gus  paced  silently  up  and  down. 

"  Does  it  concern  Edith  ?"  inquired  Fred,  for  the 
first  time  beginning  to  feel  alarmed. 

"It  does." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Good  Heaven  !  Gus,  has 
De  Lisle  carried  her  off  again  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  worse  still  !"  groaned  Gus. 

**  What  mean  you  ?"  cried  Fred,  springing  up^ 
white  with  apprehension.     "  Is  she — is  she — " 


I      !l 


THE   ARREST. 


283 


**Dead/**  said  Gus,  solemnly. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Gus  turned  to  the  win- 
dow, to  hicje  his  agitation.  He  did  not  venture  to 
look  at  his  friend,  whose  deep,  labored  breathing 
sounded  unnaturally  loud  in  the  silence  of  tlie  room. 

"Where — how — when  did  she  die?"  he  asked,  at 
length,  in  a  voice  so  altered  that  Gus  started  back  in 
terror.  4^ 

"  Fred,  my  dear  friend,  prepare  yourself  for  the 
worst  !"  he  said,  scarcely  daring  to  tell  all. 

"The  worst  has  passed.  Edith  is  dead  !  Noth- 
ing you  can  say  now  will  affect  me,"  he  answered, 
with  such  unnatural  calmness  that  Fred  almost 
feared  the  blow  had  unsettled  his  reason. 

"Then,  Fred,  she  was — murdered  !" 

Another  long  paused  followed.  Fred's  face  had 
grown  so  sternly  rigid  that  it  looked  as  though 
turned  to  marble. 

"  By  whom  ?"  he  asked. 

"  That  is  unknown,"  replied  Gus,  who  shrank  with 
cowardlly  fear  from  telling  him  all. 

"When  was  she — when  did  this  happen?"  said 
Fred,  whose  lips  seemed  unable  to  frame  the  word. 

"  The  night  before  last.  The  news  has  spread  like 
wildfire ;  and  I  had  hoped  that  you  had  heard  it  ere 
this,  and  so  spared  me  the  pains  of  being  the  first  to 
announce  it." 

"  Where  is  Ralph  De  Lisle  .'"  said  Fred,  in  a  tone 
that  plainly  indicated  he  had  little  doubt  who  was 
the  murderer. 

"  I  know  not.  Most  probably  on  his  way  to  Eng- 
land, or  in  the  far  Southwest.  No  one  suspects  him 
of  being  the  murderer." 

"  Who.  then,  can  it  be  ?     How  could  one  so  sweet. 


,1  '1 


^>i 


281 


THE  ABKEST. 


11?  :. 


yv" '      till     , 

ii  ji'i 


so  gentle,  have  enemies  ?  Was  she  robbed  as  well  as 
murdered  ?" 

*'  Her  body  was  not  found,"  said  Gus,  who  uttered 
each  word  as  slowly  and  reluctantly  as  though  it 
burned  his  lips.  "  You  recollect,  perhaps,  the  old 
barn  on  the  bluff?" 

"  Yes." 

**  She  was  decoyed  there  and  slain.  The  barn  was 
afterwards  set  on  fire,  and  her  remains  were  con- 
sumed in  the  flames." 

Something  like  a  groan  escaped  the  lips  of  Fred. 
Sinking  into  a  seat,  he  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand, 
and  for  several  moments  sat  silent  and  motionless. 
Then,  without  rising  his  head  or  looking  up,  he  said, 
huskily  : 

"  Tell  me  the  particulars.    I  would  know  all." 

Sadly  and  reluctantly  Gus  complied.  Fred  sat 
with  his  hand  still  shading  his  face — his  long  dark 
locks  falling  heavily  over  his  temples — so  cold  and 
still  that  he  seemed  to  be  slowly  petrifying.  Gus 
related  all  save  who  was  the  suspected  murderer — 
his  lips  refused  to  reveal  that. 

"  You  see  the  affair  is  wrapped  in  complete 
mystery,"  he  concluded.  "But  no  doubt  the  mur- 
derer will  yet  be  found.  No  exertion  will  be  spared 
to  ferret  him  out.  The  arm  of  divine  Providence  is 
long  enough  to  reach  him,  even  to  the  uttermost 
bounds  of  the  earth." 

Fred  did  not  speak  or  move.  The  suddenness  of 
the  shock  seemed  to  have  completely  stunned  him. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Gus,  going  over  and  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Fred's  shoulder,  *'  bear  up  !  It  is  a 
heavy  blow,  and  I  can  sympathize  with  you  ;  but 
never  despair  !  We  all  knew  and  loved  Edith— we 
all  feel  her  loss  ;  but  still,  despair  is   useless.     Bear 


as 


THE    ABBBST. 


285 


up  Fred,  and  be  a  man  !  I  have  seen  you  before 
novr  face  death  at  the  cannon's  mouth  without  winc- 
ing ;  and  will  you  now  sink  under  affliction  like  a 
timid  girl  ?" 

Fred  looked  up,  and  disclosed  a  face  so  pale  and 
eyes  so  despairing,  that  Gus  felt  his  words  were 
worse  than  useless. 

He  went  and  took  a  seat  by  the  window,  and  gazed 
out.  Fred,  his  face  hidden  by  his  hand  and  his  black 
locks,  sat  silent  and  motionless.  And  so  an  hour 
passed  before  either  moved  or  spoke. 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  stopping  before  the  door 
at  length  startled  Gus.  He  looked  up  eagerly,  and 
grew  a  shade  paler,  as  he  heard  a  quick,  authorita- 
tive voice  inquire  for  "  Mr.  Frederic  Stanley." 

"  Step  into  the  parlor,  sir,  if  you  please.  He's 
there  with  another  gentleman,"  said  the  cheery  voice 
of  Rosie  Wilde. 

The  door  was  pushed  open  ;  and  stern  and  excited, 
the  sheriff  of  the  county,  followed  by  a  constable, 
stood  before  them. 

"  Mr.  Stanley,  I  believe,"  said  the  sheriff,  bowing 
to  Fred,  who  lifted  his  head  and  answered  briefly  in 
the  affirmative. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  arrest  you,  in  the  name  of  the  law," 
said  the  sheriff,  letting  his  hand  fall  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder. 

"  Arrest  me .'"  exclaimed  Fred,  springing  to  his  feet, 
and  fiercely  shaking  off  the  officer's  hand,  as  though 
stung  by  a  viper. 

"  Such  is  my  painful  duty,  sir." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  sir,  upon  what  charge  ?" 
impetuously  exclaimed  Fred,  now  thoroughly 
aroused  into  action. 


'  <: 


286 


THE  ABREST. 


!H:i: 


r'f  .'■ 


i  i;  :       I  ! 


m'   'I 


"  You  are  arrested  upon  charge  of  having  murdered 
Edith  Percival." 

Fred  reeled  as  though  suddenly  struck,  and  was 
forced  to  grasp  the  table  for  support.  For  a  moment 
everything  seemed  swimming  around  him  ;  then,  con- 
scious that  the  cold,  keen  eyes  of  the  official  were  fixed 
upon  him,  he  recovered  his  usual  stately  firmness, 
and  answered,  with  cold  self-possession  : 

"  I  am  ready  to  attend  you,  sir,  Gus,  farewell  I 
Do  you  believe  this  charge  ?" 

"  Heaven  forbid,  Fred  !"  said  Gus,  in  a  choking 
voice. 

"  You  knew,  when  you  came,  I  was  suspected — did 
you  not  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  was  so  monstrous,  so  absurd,  I  could 
not  tell  you." 

**  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  ;  but  it 
matters  not  now.  The  world,  no  doubt,  believes  me 
guilty  ;  but  what  care  I  for  the  world  now  ?  Sir,  I 
am  quite  ready." 

The  sheriff  bowed,  and  in  his  charge  Fred  quitted 
the  room.  Bidding  adieu  to  Mrs.  Wilde,  whose 
lamentations  were  loud  and  heartfelt,  he  entered  the 
carriage,  which  was  driven  immediately  toward  the 
county  jail. 


THE  TBIAL. 


287 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE  TRIAL. 


•*  And  he  for  her  had  also  wept, 

But  for  her  the  eyes  that  on  him  gaze4, 
His  sorrow,  if  he  felt  it,  slept. 

Stern  and  erect  his  brow  was  raised ; 
Whate'er  the  grief  his  soul  avowed. 
He  would  not  shrink  before  the  crowd." 

A  fortnight  had  passed  away  since  the  arrest  of 
Fred  Stanley.  The  court  would  sit  in  another  week, 
and  his  trial  was  among  the  first  in  the  session. 

In  his  cell  the  prisoner  sat  alone.  His  face  was 
pale  but  firm,  sad  but  composed.  His  long-neglected 
locks  fell  darkly  over  his  loftly  brow,  as  he  sat 
watching  a  faded  sunbeam  that  stole  through  the 
dusty,  grated  window.  He  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock  ;  the  next  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Gus  entered, 

Fred  arose  and  extended  his  hand,  saying,  with  a 
sad  smile. 

"This  is  indeed  kind,  Gus!  All  the  rest  of  the 
world  seems  to  have  cleserted  me  but  you." 

**  They  believe  you  guilty,  Fred — I  do  not.  I  would 
have  visited  you  before,  but  circumstances  would 
not  permit.     When  does  your  trial  come  on.^* 

"  To-morrow  week." 

"  You  have  engaged  counsel  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Joice — one  of  the  best  lawyers  in  thft 
State." 

•* That's  well.    Oh,  there's  no  fear  of  your  acquit 


i:  ii 


t 


388 


THE  TRIAL. 


5  m  >i 


tal,  Fred.  It  seems  incredible  to  me  how  you  could 
c*rer  have  been  suspected." 

"You  forget  the  circumstantial  evidence." 

"  Nothing  dut  circumstantial  evidence,  neverthe- 
less, my  dear  friend." 

"  True,  but  much  slighter  has  been  found  sufficient 
to  condemn  a  man  before  now." 

**  But  it  will  not  in  your  case.  I  feel  sure  of  it  ! 
It  is  impossible,  Fred,  that  you  can  be  convicted  !** 
exclaimed  Gus,  impetuously  rising  and  pacing  the 
cell. 

"  Well,  never  mind  that  now.  What's  the  news 
from  the  outer  world  ?  What  does  public  opinion 
say  of  me  ?" 

"  Public  opinion's  a  —  fool !" 

**  In  many  cases  it  is,  no  doubt  ;  but  what  does  it 
say  of  me  ?'* 

*'  I  says  you're — guilty." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Fred,  quietly.  "  This  chari- 
table world  is  always  inclined  to  look  on  the  worst 
possible  side  of  things.  No  doubt  there  will  be  an 
immense  crowd  at  the  trial." 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  you  never  saw  such  excitement. 
Your  family  and  the  Percivals  being  so  highly  con- 
nected, nothing  else  is  talked  of.  People  are  looking 
forward  to  the  trial  with  an  eagerness  and  anxiety 
you  can  have  no  idea  of.  They  are  crazy  to  get  a 
sight  of  you,  too,  and  you  may  expect  to  endure  a 
pretty  prolonged  stare  from  a  couple  of  thousand 
eyes  on  that  day.  This  exaggerated  anxiety  would 
be  ludicrous  were  it  not  so  annoying,"  said  Gus, 
biting  his  lip. 

*'  Where  are  the  Percivals  now  ?"  inquired  Fred, 
after  a  pause. 

**  The  major  and  Nugent  are  in  town,  here  Mrs. 


THE  TBIAL, 


289 


Percival,  whose  life  is  despaired  of,  is  at  home ;  and 
poor  Nell,  half-insane  with  grief,  is  with  her." 

"  Is  my  father  here  yet  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  him  yesterday,  looking  as  though 
fifty  years  had  lately  been  added  to  his  age  ;  but  as 
proud  and  haughty  as  ever.  'Tis  said  he  will  wait 
until  after  your  trial,  and  then  leave  for  England." 

"  I  suppose  he  imagines  me  guilty,  like  the  rest  ?'* 

"  No  doubt  ;  but  when  your  trial  is  over,  and  your 
innocence  clearly  proved,  perhaps  they  will  change 
their  tune." 

"It  matters  little,"  said  Fred,  "even  though  I  am 
acquitted  ;  public  opinion  will  still  believe  me  guilt}'', 
and  I  will  be  just  as  much  a  murderer  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  as  though  I  had  been  condemned.  But  what 
do  I  care  for  the  opinion  of  the  world  ?"  he  added, 
drawing  himself  proudly  up,  while  some  of  the  old 
haughtiness  flashed  in  his  eye,  and  curled  his  lip. 
"  I  live  in  a  world  of  my  own,  as  high  above 
theirs  as  heaven  is  above  the  earth.  But  you,  dearGus 
— I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  your  faith  in  my  integrity. 
How  will  you  be  able  to  maintain  your  belief  in  my 
innocence,  against  such  an  overwhelming  mass  of 
testimony  as  will  be  brought  against  me  ?" 

"  Though  all  the  world  should  believe  you  guilty, 
Fred,  I  never  will,"  replied  Gus,  firmly. 

"  Even  though  I  should  be  condemned  ?" 

"  Even  though  you  should  be  condemned  !" 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my   dear  friend,"  said  Fred, 
grasping  his  hand,  while  tears  sprang  to  his  deep 
dark  eyes. 

"  And  now  I  must  leave  you,  Fred,"  said  Gus.  "  I 
will  see  you  to-morrow  again,  if  possible.  Mean- 
time, remember   the  old   motto :   *  Hope  on,  hope 


ever. 


» >» 


J 


!,l 


/i).i 


il  1 


^i. 


lit"  • 


290 


THE  TRIAL. 


"  There  remains  but  little  for  me  to  hope  for,"  said 
Fred  sadly.  "  Hitherto,  I  have  always  borne  an 
unsullied  name  ;  but  now,  the  disgrace  of  this  trial 
for  murder  will  cling  to  me  for  life." 

"  Nonsense,  Fred  !  the  world  is  not  so  unjust  ! 
*  Before  morning  dawns,  night  is  ever  darkest.' 
There  are  bright  days   in  store  for  you  yet,  believe 


me. 


9* 


"You  are  unusually  full  of  *  wise  saws*  to-day, 
Gus,"  said  Fred  with  something  like  the  old  smile 
flitting  over  his  handsome  face.  "  I  shall  wait 
impatiently  for  your  coming,  to-morrow  ;  for,  shut 
in  this  black  hole,  it  seems  like  a  glimpse  of  the  outer 
world  to  catch  sight  of  you." 

Gus  knocked  at  the  door  to  be  let  out.  The  jailor 
opened  it,  and  the  youth  disappeared. 

The  day  of  trial  came  at  last.  Even  at  early  morn 
the  streets  were  crowded  by  the  excited  mob,  anxious 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  prisoner  when  he  should 
be  led  forth.  Stores  were  closed  ;  for  men  forgot  to 
buy  and  sell  in  talking  over  the  dreadful  murder, 
and  the  assassin's  probable  fate.  Women  forgot 
their  ordinary  occupation,  to  chat  over  the  demerits 
of  the  case  ;  for  the  prisoner  being  young,  handsome 
and  highly  connected,  deeply  interested  the  fair  sex. 
Even  children  forgot  their  marbles  and  tops  in  the 
all-absorbing  topic  ;  and  played  at  "  trials,"  and 
talked  of  judge  and  juries,  instead  of  kites  and  pen- 
knives. In  short,  nothing  was  thought  or  spoken  of, 
but  the  one  exciting  subject — the  trial  of  Frederic 
Stanley,  on  the  appalling  charge  of  murder. 

The  doors  were  at  length  thrown  open — the  crowd 
rushed  in,  and  the  court-room  was  filled  to  suffoca- 
tion.   A  deep,  low  murmur,  like  the  surging  of  the 


THE  TRIAL. 


201 


sea,  filled  the  air,  as  the  mighty  crowd  swayed  to 
and  fro.  The  murmur  increased  almost  into  a  roar 
as  the  prisoner,  in  the  custody  of  the  sheriff,  entered. 
The  dark,  scowling  faces  on  every  side  showed  how 
deeply  the  mob  were  prejudiced  against  him,  and  it 
was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  order  could  be  main- 
tained. 

Fred  entered  with  the  careless  grace  habitual  to 
him — his  fine  head  erect,  his  keen,  dark  eyes  fixed 
calmly  on  the  excited  crowd.  More  than  one  scowl- 
ing glance  fell  before  his  haughty,  scornful  eye  ;  and 
the  public  were  forced  to  think  that  he  looked  far 
more  like  some  captive  prince  than  an  assassin.  If 
he  were  guilty,  he  certainly  betrayed  no  sign  of  it. 

Taking  his  place  at  the  bar,  Fred  glanced  again 
at  the  crowd  in  the  coart-room.  There  sat  Major 
Percival,  with  a  brow  stem  and  dark  as  night,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  prisoner  with  a  look  of  such  intense 
hatred  and  loathing,  that  he  seemed  longing  to  tear 
him  limb  from  limb.  Near  him  sat  Nugent,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  crowd,  his  brow  clouded  ;  but  there  was 
a  look  far  more  of  sorrow  than  of  anger  on  his  face. 
That  he  believed  him  guilty  there  could  be  little 
doubt ;  and  for  a  moment  a  feeling  of  despair 
weighed  on  the  heart  of  Fred  at  the  thought  :  "  If 
Nugent  Percival,  with  his  Of>cn,  generous  nature, 
and  noble  mind,  believed  him  capable  of  murder, 
what  could  he  expect  from  strangers  ?" 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  court-room,  with  his 
arms  folded  across  his  breast,  his  cloak  thrown  over 
his  shoulders,  and  wrapped  in  his  haughty  pride  as 
in  a  garment,  sat  Sir  William  Stanley.  His  face  was 
cold  and  stern,  his  eye  clear  and  unpitying,  his 
mouth  firm  and  rigid.  Whether  be  believed  in  his 
ion's  guilt  or  not,  it  would  be  hard   to  determine. 


I 


I  ": 


t 

■  I  i 

t. 


4    * 

m 

^'il 


la';  :i 


w  > 


h\   v^ 


I 


'1  :. 


292 


THB   TRIAL. 


Nothing  could  be  read  from  his  face  ;  all  was  stern 
and  expressionless  there. 

Again  he  glanced  over  the  crowd.  Whichever 
way  he  turned,  nothing  met  his  eyes  but  fierce  looks 
and  sullen  glances.  Those  who  had  been  his  friends 
in  other  days,  sat  with  downcast  eyes  and  averted 
faces  ;  no  kindly  look  was  there.  Not  one  among 
all  that  immense  crowd,  if  called  upon  to  pronounce 
his  doom,  but  would  have  shouted :  ''  Guilty  ! 
guilty  !" 

He  turned  away  with  a  feeling  of  despair  at  his 
heart,  but  his  outward  bearing  was  bold,  undaunted, 
and  almost  defying.  He  glanced  at  the  Bench. 
Even  the  presiding  judge  seemed  to  have  made  up 
his  mind  as  to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner,  judging  by 
the  look  his  face  wore. 

As  for  the  jury,  little  could  be  read  from  their 
blank  faces,  but  more  than  one  of  them  he  knew  to 
be  his  personal  enemies. 

Amid  all  that  assembly,  there  was  but  one  who  in 
his  heart  believed  in  the  innocence  of  the  prisoner. 
Gus,  faithful  to  the  last,  stood  by  his  side,  returning 
every  look  of  hatred  directed  toward  his  friend  with 
compound  interest,  and  endeavoring,  by  his  cheerful 
face  and  hopeful  glances,  to  encourage  him  to  trust 
for  the  best. 

Having  taken  his  place,  the  usual  charge  was  read, 
arraigning  the  prisoner  with  the  willful  murder  of 
Edith  Percival,  by  stabbing  her  with  a  knife,  on  the 
night  of  the  fifth  of  June.  Fred  listened  with  out- 
ward calmness  to  the  cliarge,  and  when  tlie  clerk  of 
the  court  asked  the  usual  question  :  "Frederic  Stan- 
ley, liow  say  you — are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  of 
the  felony  with  which  you  are  charged  ?"  his  dark  eye 


THB  TBIAL* 


293 


flashed  and  his  lip  curled,  as  he  answered,  with  cold 
haughtiness  : 

"Not  guilty  !" 

The  State's  attorney  then  arose,  and  proceeded 
witii  liis  address.  No  pen  can  describe  tiie  emotions 
which  liis  eloquence  and  pathos  produced  in  ii.inds 
already  made  up  to  believe  the  prisoner's  guilt.  To 
destroy  any  favorable  impression  the  well-known 
nobleness  and  generosity  of  the  priscner  might  have 
made  on  the  minds  of  the  jury,  he  spoke  of  the  ex- 
cesses to  which  blind  rage  will  often  excite  even  the 
most  tranquil,  of  his  known  haughtiness  and  fiery 
temper,  which  could  never  endure  opposition. 

He  dwelt  long  and  eloquently  on  each  trifling  cir- 
cumstance that  could  by  any  possibility  heighten  his 
guilt,  until  Gus  grew  pale  with  apprehension. 

As  he  proceeded  to  state  the  case,  the  audience 
were  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  the  highest  excite- 
ment. 

He  stated  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  con- 
ceived a  passion  for  his  unhappy  victim,  knowing 
her  to  be  the  betrothed  of  another  ;  how  by  his  art- 
ful words  he  induced  her  to  forget  her  plighted 
engagement  and  turn  her  affections  to  himself,  that 
he  had  audaciously  disclosed  his  feelings  to  the 
father,  boasting  of  his  ascendancy  over  her  at  the 
same  time  ;  that  meeting  with  what  he  deserved,  an 
indignant  dismissal,  he  had  departed  in  high  anger; 
that  some  time  after,  her  former  engagement  being 
broken  by  a  circumstance  not  necessary  to  mention, 
the  prisoner,  on  the  evening  of  the  murder,  again 
made  his  appearance  in  the  little  village — thinking, 
no  doubt,  he  was  now  sure  of  success  ;  that  he  was 
met  by  the  young  lady's  father,  who  refused  to  per- 
mit him  to  see  her,  that  angry  words  ensued,  and  the 


1    .» 


I  ] 


■  '  • 


I 


.^'-'■ 


liJ. 


204 


THE   TRIAL. 


prisoner  rode  off  in  high  displeasure  ;  but  instead  of 
leaving  the  village,  had  by  means  of  a  little  boy, 
decoyed  his  victim  to  a  lonely  house,  and  there,  upon 
her  steadily  refusing  to  fly  with  him,  murdered  her. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  spoke  of  all  this  at  length, 
not  with  the  brevity  with  which  it  is  summed  up 
here. 

He  referred  to  the  gentle  and  amiable  character  of 
the  unhappy  young  lad}^ — her  beauty,  her  goodness, 
and  the  deep,  trusting  affection  for  himself  'vith 
which  her  murderer  had  inspired  her.  How  unsus- 
pectingly she  had  been  betrayed  into  meeting  the 
unworthy  object  of  her  love,  and  because  her  sense 
of  duty  was  greater  than  her  affection  for  him,  was, 
as  she  stood  there  with  him,  alone  and  helpless,  basely 
assassinated. 

So  touching  was  the  picture  he  drew,  so  pathetic 
were  his  words,  that  all  the  women  present  sobbed 
convulsively,  and  even  among  the  men,  many  eyes, 
all  unused  to  the  "  melting  mood,"  grew  dim,  and 
flashed  still  more  fiercely  through  their  tears  on  the 
prisoner  who,  with  his  face  shaded  by  his  hand,  strove 
to  hide  the  agony  he  endured,  when  the  speaker 
dwelt  on  the  harrowing  fate  of  his  beloved  Edith. 

The  State's  attorney  concluded  by  saying  he  would 
prove  his  statements  by  /acfs — stern,  undeniable 
facts — by  competent  and  respectable  witnesses,  whom 
he  would  now  call  in  the  order  of  the  circumstances 
they  were  to  prove  had  occurred. 

"Major  Percival  will  take  the  stand." 

The  major  advanced,  and  after  the  usual  oath,  tes- 
tified that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  had  conceived  a 
passion  for  the  deceased,  whicli  she  returned,  that 
the  prisoner  had  boldly  informed  the  witness  of  it, 
and  that   they  had   parted  in  high  anger.     That  on 


THE  TRIAL. 


295 


the  evening  of  the  murder  the  witness  had  accident- 
ally  met  the  prisoner,  and  accosted  him,  demanding 
his  business  there,  knowing  he  could  have  come  for 
no  good  purpose  ;  that  the  prisoner  had  audaciously 
told  him  he  came  to  see  his  daughter  once  more 
before  leaving  the  country  ;  that  he  indignantly 
bade  him  begone,  and  that  the  prisoner  in  a  rage 
had  rode  off,  and  that  he  had  not  seen  him  since 
until  to-day  at  the  bar. 

Being  cross-examined,  he  admitted,  that  at  part- 
ing, the  prisoner  had  made  use  of  no  threats,  and 
that  his  own  words  had  been  angry  and  insulting. 
The  witness  was  then  allowed  to  retire. 

The  next  witness  called  was  Nugent  Percival. 

He  corroborated  the  testimony  of  his  fat'ier  ;  and 
further  deposed,  that  after  learning  the  particulars 
of  the  murder,  he  had,  in  company  with  his  father, 
visited  the  spot  ;  that  he  had  found  a  dagger, 
stained  with  blood,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  prop- 
erty of  the  prisoner,  as  it  bore  his  name,  and  had 
been  the  gift  of  his  father.  That  he  likewise  dis- 
covered a  portion  of  a  silk  scarf,  which  he  knew  the 
deceased  had  worn  on  the  night  of  the  murder. 

The  dagger  and  scarf  were  produced,  and  identi- 
fied by  the  witness. 

A  severe  cross-examination  followed,  but  nothing 
more  was  elicited. 

Sir  William  Stanley  was  then  called  ;  who,  after 
closely  examining  the  dagger,  pronounced  it  to  be 
the  same  he  had  himself  given  his  son. 

Fred  listened  like  one  thunderstruck  to  this  testi- 
mony. That  the  dagger  was  his,  there  could  be  no 
doubt,  and  he  now  recollected  having  lost  it  a  short 
time  previous  to  the  murder  ;  but  had  troubled  him- 


''4 


u. 


M 

I!      I 


296 


THE  TBIAL. 


self  little  about  it — never  dreaming  it  would  yet  bear 
so  fatally  against  him  in  a  court  of  justice. 

Gus,  who  had  listened  with  equal  surprise,  now 
stooped  down  and  whispered  : 

"  Bah  !  that  proves  nothing.  The  murderer  might 
have  accidentally  found  it  or  stolen  it  to  lay  the 
blame  on  you." 

The  third  witness  called  was  Edward  Dillon. 

Master  Eddy  came  up  with  a  swagger,  evidently 
in  the  hightest  spirits.  Convinced  that  nothing 
would  be  done  to  him  for  his  share  in  the  transac- 
tion, and  elated  by  the  reward  promised  him  if  he 
told  the  truth  boldly,  he  was  in  excellent  humor, 
and  delighted  to  find  himself  shining  off  before  so 
great  a  crowd. 

**  Witness,  do  you  understand  the  nature  of  an 
oath  ?"  asked  the  State's  attorney. 

"  'Spect  I  do,"  said  Eddy,  seriously. 

"What  is  an  oath  ?" 

Eddy  laid  his  finger  on  his  nose  in  deep  medita- 
tion ;  but,  evidently,  the  question  was  a  poser.  He 
glanced  appealingly  at  the  judge,  but  that  high  func- 
tionary was  looking  at  him  through  his  gold-rimmed 
spectacles,  with  silent  but  overwhelming  dignity. 
Finding  no  help  from  this  quarter,  Eddy  scratched 
his  head  with  a  look  of  intense  perplexity. 

"  Witness,  what  is  an  oath  ?  "  solemnly  repeated 
his  interlocutor. 

"Weil,  if  I  must,  I  musf,  though  I  plaguey  hate 
to,"  said  Eddv.  "  When  you  told  the  tailor  day 
afore  yesterday  when  he  asked  you  for  his  bill,  to  *go 
to  the  devil,*  fAai  was  an  oath." 

A  roar  of  laughter  from  the  crowd  followed  this, 
while  the  attorney,  who  was  noted  for  now  and  then 
indulging  in  profanity,  turned  crimson  with  rage. 


TEE  TBIAL. 


297 


**  Silence,  sir,  and  answer  to  the  point,'*  he  angrily 
exclaimed.  "Do  you  know  where  you'll  go  to 
when  you  die  if  you  take  a  false  oath  ?" 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  I'd  go  where  they  say  all  the  bad 
folks  and  the  lawyers  go." 

And  Eddy  gave  his  head  a  peculiar  jerk,  to  design- 
ate the  place  below. 

Another  snicker  from  the  crowd  followed  this  ; 
and  convinced  by  this  time  that  Eddy  really  did 
know  the  nature  of  an  oath,  the  court  concluded 
that  that  promising  young  gentleman  should  be 
sworn. 

"Witness,  look  at  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

Eddy  turned  and  favored  Fred  with  a  patronizing 
nod  and  grin. 

"  Now,  witness,  you  have  seen  the  prisoner.  Do 
you  know  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  am  particularly  acquainted 
with  him,"  answered  Eddy  gravely. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  before  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  I  really  couldn't  say  for  certain,  you 
know.     Think  I  have,  though." 

"  Does  he  look  like  any  one  you  have  ever  seen  ?'* 

"  If  he  had  a  long  cloak  on,  and  a  hat  pulled  over 
his  fa'e,  I  would  be  s'prised  if  he  looked  uncommon 
like  the  chap  as  got  me  to  go  for  Miss  Edith." 

"  Witness,  on  your  oath,  can  you  testify  that  this 
is  not  the  same  person  who  paid  you  on  the  night  of 
the  murder  to  bring  the  young  lady  to  the  lone  house 
on  the  bluff  ?" 

**  'Twas  after  niorht,  and  his  hat  was  away  down 
over  his  face,  and  the  rest  of  him  was  kivered  up  in 
a  big  cloak,  and  not  having  the  eyes  of  a  cat,  I 
couldn't  'stinguish  him  precisely.     He  was  'bout  the 


i  •! 


298 


THE  TRIAL. 


!!l 


•?  ; 


St*,'     7   -:     ( 


m 


size  of  that  'ere  prisoner,  though,  and — yes,  he  had 
long,  black  hair  like  him,  too — I  saw  that." 

"  Well,  now  tell  the  jury  all  that  passed  between 
you  and  the  murderer  that  night." 

Interlarding  the  narrative  with  many  explanations 
of  his  own,  not  particularly  lucid,  and  many  pro- 
found observations  on  what  he  thought  and  said  to 
*'  hisself,"  which  were  generally  cut  short  by  the 
unceremonious  attorney,  Eddy  proceeded  with  his 
tale,  which  is  too  well  known  to  the  reader  to  need 
repetition  here. 

When  he  came  to  the  meeting,  where  Edith 
addressed  her  murderer  as  *'  Fred^'  the  prisoner  lifted 
his  head  and  gazed  upon  the  boy  with  a  look  of  utter 
amazement.  That  he  was  telling  the  truth  there 
could  be  no  doubt,  for  there  was  an  unmistakable 
look  of  honesty  and  candor  on  his  face. 

Eddy  was  severely  cross-examined  by  the  counsel 
for  the  defense,  but  all  his  answers  were  plain  and 
straightforward,  and  to  the  point.  At  length,  thor- 
oughly exasperated  by  this  raking  fire  of  cross-ques- 
tions, he  indignantly  and  stoutly  refused  to  answer 
a  single  question  more.  And  amid  the  laughter  of 
the  audience,  Master  Eddy  was  permitted  to  sit 
down. 

The  girl  Betty  was  then  called,  who  corroborated 
the  evidence  of  Eddy,  as  far  as  coming  for  the 
deceased  was  concerned,  and  further  identified  the 
scarf  as  one  the  deceased  had  worn  on  leaving  home. 

The  landlord  of  the  inn  was  the  next  witness  sum- 
moned, who  deposed  that  a  stranger,  answering  to 
the  description  given  of  the  murderer,  had  engaged 
a  room  in  his  house  for  the  night,  that  half  an  hour 
previous  to  the  murder,  he  had  hastily  left  the  house 
and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  old  house  on  the 


THE  TRIAL. 


sya 


bluff  ;  that  he  had  returned  in  great  haste,  and  evi- 
dently much  excited,  and  drank  a  great  deal  of 
brandy  ;  that,  upon  the  alarm  of  fire  being  given,  he 
had  hastened  out  with  the  rest,  and  that  iiis  almost 
frantic  actions  had  excited  the  wonder  of  several  ; 
that  after  the  fire,  he  (the  witness)  had  hastened 
home,  that  he  observed  the  assassin  plunge  into  the 
woods,  and  returned  to  his  house  no  more.  Being 
cross-pxamined,  he  could  not  swear  positively  that 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  and  the  murderer  were  one 
and  the  same  person,  as  he  had  not,  during  the  night, 
procured  a  good  view  of  his  face,  but  he  thought  \.\\t,y 
were  the  same — their  height  was  alike,  the  color  of 
their  hair,  etc. 

Several  other  witnesses  were  examined,  but  noth- 
ing more  of  importance  was  elicited,  and  the  court 
was  shortly  after  adjourned  until  the  following  day. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  great  trial,  the  crowd 
was  even  greater  than  before — all  eager  to  hear  the 
fate  of  the  prisoner.  Every  eye  was  turned  upon 
him  as  he  entered.  Pale,  but  firm,  his  eagle  eye 
met  the  gaze  of  that  crowd,  all  anxious  for  his  con- 
demnation, without  flinching,  and  taking  his  seat, 
he  lifted  his  princely  head,  and  fixed  his  dark  eyes 
on  the  Bench  as  calmly  as  though  the  men  before 
him  held  not  his  life  in  their  hands. 

When  the  last  witness  for  the  prosecution  had  been 
examined,  the  defense  was  taken  up,  and  conducted 
with  great  skill  and  eloquence  by  the  counsel  for  the 
prisoner.  He  spoke  at  length  upon  the  high  char- 
acter his  client  had  always  maintained,  and  enlarged 
on  every  point  that  could  possibly  been  in  his  favor. 
It  was  evident,  however,  his  words  made  but  little 
impression  on  the  minds  of  the  jury. 

The  counsel   for  the   prosecution   then   arose,  and 


il 


300 


THE   TRIAL. 


m-:'n 


summed  up  the  testimony  against  the  prisoner  in 
one  mighty,  crushing  mass  of  evidence.  When  the 
judge  stood  up  to  charge  the  jury,  the  silence  of  that 
mighty  crowd  was  so  deep  that  it  might  almost  be 
felt.  It  was  quite  evident  that  in  his  mind  there  ex- 
isted no  doubt  of  the  prisoner's  guilt,  and  though  he 
urged  the  jury  to  deliberate  calmly  upon  the  evi- 
dence, every  one  present  felt  that  the  prisoner's  doom 
was  sealed 

The  jury  withdrew  to  deliberate,  and  the  silence 
of  that  mighty  crowd  was  so  profound  and  ominous 
that  it  was  painful  to  witness.  Every  eye  was  di- 
rected toward  the  prisoner,  who,  with  his  stately 
head  erect,  his  proud,  handsome  face  as  cold  and 
firm  as  marble,  betrayed  no  sign  of  his  feelings  with- 
in. Gus,  noble,  true-hearted  Gus,  still  stood  faith- 
ful by  his  side,  his  only  remaining  friend,  and  look- 
ing fierce  defiance  at  every  scrowling  glance 
directed  toward  Fred. 

And  what  were  the  feelings  of  those  who  in  other 
days  had  stood  by  him  during  those  awful  moments 
of  suspense.  Sir  William  Stanley,  as  stern  and  grim 
as  death  itself,  sat  with  his  lips  compressed,  his  stony 
eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  his  iron  face  expressing  no 
emotion,  whatever.  Major  Percival  sat,  deadly  pale, 
but  with  the  old  look  of  mingled  hatred  and  triumph 
on  his  face.  Nugent's  head  was  bowed  on  his  hand, 
his  face  hidden  by  his  falling  hair. 

Presently  the  jury  re-entered.  The  foreman 
arose,  and  announced  that  their  verdict  was  ready. 
One  look  at  their  sad,  stern  faces,  and  every  heart 
stood  still,  knowing  well  what  was  to  come. 

The  judge  arose. 

**  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  how  say  you,  is  the  pris- 
oner at  the  bar  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 


EDITH'S  STOBT. 


801 


**  Not  guilty  r  cried  the  clear,  excited  voice  of  a 
female,  and  forcing  her  way  through  the  crowd  that 
fell  back  in  mingled  fear  and  amazement,  a  young 
girl  stood  before  the  bench. 

Throwing  back  the  veil  that  hid  her  face,  the  new- 
comer turned  slowly  round,  and  the  wonder-struck 
spectators  beheld  the  pale  but  beautiful  Edith  Per- 
cival. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


EDITH  S   STORY. 


**  Then  think  of  this  maxim,  and  cast  away  sorrow. 
The  wretched  to-day  may  be  happy  to-morrow  1" 

For  a  moment  the  profound  silence  of  intense 
amazement  held  every  tongue  speechless,  every  voice 
silent,  and  the  dense  crowd  stood  motionless,  spell- 
bound !  And  then,  "  Edith  !  Edith !  Edith  Per- 
cival  !"  rang  out  like  the  roar  of  the  sea. 

The  excitement  and  uproar  was  fearful ;  the  judge 
sat  transfixed  ;  the  jury  gazed  on  her  with  mouth 
and  eyes  agape  ;  the  crowd  reeled  and  swayed  to  see 
one  who  seemed  to  have  risen  from  the  grave  to  vin- 
dicate the  prisoner  ;  the  clerk  of  the  court  forgot  to 
cry  silence,  and  stood  staring  in  speechless  astonish- 
ment, like  the  rest. 

And  Fred — the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  the 
unexpected  sight  of  one  he  imagined  in  heaven,  came 
so  stunningly  upon  him,  that  for  a  moment  the  sight 
left  his  eyes,  liis  senses  reeled,  and  he  leaned  his  head 
upon  the  railing,  feeling  as  though  he  should  faint. 


lP 


.■ 


f     i. 


302 


Edith's  stort. 


U 


i   I 


y 


It  was  but  for  an  instant — then  all  his  wonderful 
power  of  self-control  came  back,  and  he  lifted  his 
head — almost  fearing  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
was  but  a  delusion,  a  dream.  But  no,  there  stood 
Edith  alive,  lovely  and  radiant  as  when  he  first  beheld 
her — lier  soft,  blue  eyes  beaming  upon  him  with  such 
a  look  of  deep  unutterable  love. 

With  a  passionate  exclamation.  Major  Percival 
arose  to  his  feet,  and  would  have  sprung  toward  his 
daughter,  but  as  well  might  he  have  endeavored  to 
force  iiis  way  through  a  wall  of  iron,  as  through  that 
madly  excited  crowd.  Nugent  perceived  how  vain 
would  be  the  effort,  and  though  almost  delirious 
himself  with  overwhelming  emotion,  he  strove  to 
keep  him  back  from  the  crushing  throng  of 
human  beings. 

But  above  all  the  noise  and  uoroar  that  filled  the 
court-house,  there  arose  a  cry,  a  cry  so  full  of 
unspeakable  horror  and  despair,  that  every  heart 
stood  still.  All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction 
from  whence  it  came,  and  there,  before  them,  like  a 
galvanized  corpse,  stood  Ralph  de  Lisle.  Oh  !  such 
a  ghastly  face,  such  livid  lips  flecked  with  blood  and 
foam,  such  wild  despairing,  horror-struck  eyes  ! 
Every  face  blanched  with  a  deep,  unspeakable  awe 
as  they  gazed. 

"  Sheriff,  I  command  you  to  arrest  Ralph  De  Lisle, 
on  charge  of  attempting  the  murder  of  Edith  Perci- 
val," called  a  calm,  commanding  voice,  that  sounded 
strangely  clear  and  cool  amid  all  that  wild  storm  of 
passion  and  excitement,  and  waving  his  arm  to 
where  stood  the  conscience-stricken  man,  the  Hermit 
of  the  Cliffs  turned  toward  the  Bench. 

"  Never  !"  shouted  De  Lisle,  fiercely — all  his  preS' 
ence  of  mind  returning  with  the  imminence  of  his 


Edith's  stort. 


3u;; 


danger,  as  he  struggled  madly  to  force  his  way 
through  the  waving  sea  of  beings  between  him  and 
the  door. 

But  he  strugj^ied  in  vain.  The  strong  hand  of  the 
officer  grasped  his  collar  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

"  Dog  of  a  sheriff  !  release  me  !"  he  cried,  foaming 
witli  rage,  and  endeavoring  to  wrench  himself  from 
his  powerful  grasp. 

Half-a-dozen  willing  hands  were  raised  to  aid  the 
officer,  when  De  Lisle,  seeing  all  hope  was  past,  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning,  drew  a  pistol  and  leveled  it 
at  Edith.  She  stood  white  and  motionless,  unable 
to  move,  while  a  low  cry  of  horror  arose  from  the 
spectators.  But  his  murderous  object  failed,  for  as 
quick  as  thought,  his  arm  was  struck  upward,  while 
the  pistol  fell  to  the  ground  and  went  off.  A  shriek 
of  pain  followed,  and  a  boy  was  raised  from  the 
floor,  bleeding,  and  carried  out — the  ball  having 
lodged  in  his  ankle. 

This  did  not  tend  to  allay  the  feelings  of  the  mob, 
who  turned  upon  De  Lisle,  and  would  have  torn  him 
in  pieces  but  for  the  interference  of  the  officers.  His 
arms,  after  desperate  resistance,  were  pinioned  firmly 
behind  his  back,  and  still  struggling  like  a  madman, 
he  was  borne  to  a  place  of  safety. 

With  the  utmost  difficulty,  peace  was  at  length 
restored,  and  Edith  was  commanded  to  tell  her 
story  ;  and  then  the  deepest  silence  followed  where 
a  moment  before  all  had  been  fierce  noise  and  wild 
uproar,  and  all  ears  were  bent  and  necks  strained  to 
catch  each  word  that  fell  from  her  lips.  But  Edith 
was  so  weak  and  faint  from  excitement,  that  her 
voice  was  inarticulate.  A  chair  was  brought  for  her, 
and  a  glass  of  water  presented  by  Gus,  who — poor, 
faithful  fellow — scarcely  knew  whether  he  ought  to 


'  ''<i 


1 


■i 

i 


304 


Edith's  stobt. 


r  li 


laugh  or  cry,  and  consequently  did  neither,  and  then, 
revived,  Edith  turned  to  the  Bench,  and  began  : 

"  I  presume  all  here  present  know  most  of  the 
events  of  that  night.  Oh,  that  dreadful  night  !  I 
cannot  even  now  think  of  it  without  a  shudder. 

"Thinking  I  was  to  visit  his  sister,  I  accompanied 
the  boy,  Eddy  Dillon,  from  home.  Forming  some 
excuse,  he  persuaded  me  to  go  with  him  to  the  old 
house  on  the  bluff.  As  we  ascended  the  hill,  the 
figure  of  a  man  wrapped  in  a  cloak — his  face  hidden 
by  his  hat — stepped  from  the  old  house  and  stood 
before  us.  I  imagined  it  to  be  Frederic  Stanley, 
who  that  evening  had  been  in  the  village,  and  think- 
ing he  had  employed  the  boy  to  lead  me  there  for 
a  clandestine  interview,  I  addressed  him  by  his  name. 
He  did  not  reply,  but  said  something  in  a  whisper 
to  Eddy,  who  immediately  ran  away.  Still,  thinking 
it  was  Fred,  I  followed  him  into  the  old  house,  and 
again  called  him  by  his  nair.e.  Still  he  was  silent. 
I  grew  alarmed  ;  when  he  dropped  his  cloak,  raised 
his  hat,  and  I  saw  before  me  my  mortal  enemy — 
Ralph  De  Lisle  !" 

Edith  shuddered,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  as  memory  conjured  up  that  almost  fatal 
night. 

"  1  was  so  shocked,  so  startled,  so  terror-stricken, 
that  for  a  moment  I  almost  fainted.  I  scarcely  know 
how  I  rallied,  but  I  was  inspired  by  sudden  courage, 
and  stood  fearlessly  before  him.  He  urged  me  to  fiy 
with  him  or  die.  Death  was  preferable  to  life  with 
him,  and  I  refused.  Blinded,  maddened  by  my 
refusal,  he  drew  a  dagger  and  plunged  it  into  my 
side.  Dimly,  as  one  remembers  a  frightful  dream,  I 
recollect  falling  to  the  ground  ;  then  I  drew  out  the 
knife,  and  then  all  grew  dark,  and  with  a  dull  roar* 


bdith's  stout. 


805 


the 
!    I 


ing  sound  as  of  many  waters  in  my  ears,  memory  and 
life  were  alike  for  a  time  lost  in  oblivion. 

"  When  I  again  opened  my  eyes,  I  found  myself 
lying  in  the  little  cottage  umong  the  cliffs,  occupied 
by  the  aged  hermit.  For  days  I  hovered  between 
death  and  life,  and  with  a  care  for  which  I  can  never 
be  sufficiently  grateful,  the  hermit  watched  over  me, 
night  and  day.  He  scarcely  ever  left  me,  even  for 
his  necessary  repose ;  and  owing  to  his  care,  I 
slowly  recovered.  He  said  it  would  be  dangerous 
to  remove  me  home,  and  I  was  too  weak  and  power- 
less to  care  where  I  was.  As  he  never  went  out, 
we  heard  nothing  of  what  was  transpiring  in  the 
outer  world,  until  yesterday,  yielding  to  my  entreat- 
ies, he  went  to  inform  my  parents  that  I  was  still 
alive.  The  first  person  he  met  related  the  arrest  of 
Mr.  Stanley,  and  informed  him  he  was  to  be  tried 
for  murdering  me  to-day.  With  almost  frantic 
haste,  he  turned  home  and  told  me  all ;  and  scarcely 
pausing  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements,  we 
started  for  this  place,  and,  thank  Heaven  !  we  have 
arrived  in  time  to  vindicate  the  innocence  of  Fred- 
eric Stanley." 

Edith  paused  and  glanced  with  a  look  of 
unchangeable  affection  toward  the  spot  where  Fred 
sat — his  face  alternately  flushing  and  paling  with 
powerful  emotion.  There  was  a  moment's  dead 
silence,  and  then  a  cheer  that  made  the  old  court- 
house ring  came  from  every  excited  heart.  Yes ;  in 
that  moment  a  complete  revulsion  of  feeling  took 
place  in  every  breast.  Fred's  triumph  was  complete  ; 
and  with  its  usual  impulsive  inconsiderateness,  the 
mob  as  heartily  rejoiced  in  his  innocence  as,  a  few 
moments  previously,  they  had  done  in  his  guilt. 

**  But  how  were  you  rescued  ?"  said   the  judge, 


V: 


^ 


30« 


Edith's  story. 


:i 


f 


i'  f 


partaking  of  the  universal  excitement.  "  This  blank 
in  your  story — " 

"Can  be  filled  by  me,"  interrupted  the  hermit, 
stepping  forward.  "  On  the  night  in  question,  pass* 
ing  accidently — or  rather  by  a  dispensation  of  Prov- 
idence which  men  call  chance — near  the  bluff,  I 
beheld,  to  my  surprise,  a  sudden  jet  of  flame  shoot 
up  from  a  pile  of  rubbish  near.  Anxious  to  know 
the  cause,  I  hastened  up  and  entered  the  old  barn. 
All  was  deserted  and  dreary  around  ;  and  I  was 
about  to  quit  it,  and  give  the  alarm,  when  my  eyes 
fell  on  an  object  lying  at  my  feet,  that  almost  trans- 
fixed me  with  horror,  that  froze  the  very  blood  in 
my  veins.  There,  lying  cold  and  lifeless,  bathed 
in  blood,  lay  Edith  Percival.  In  a  moment,  the 
whole  truth  burst  upon  me.  She  had  been  murdered 
there,  and  the  assassin  had  set  fire  to  the  house  to 
conceal  the  evidence  of  his  crime.  Should  I  leave 
her  to  perish  in  the  fiames  ?  No  ;  not  if  I  died  with 
her.  An  almost  superhuman  strength  seemed  to 
inspire  me.  I  raised  her  lifeless  form  in  my  arms  as 
though  she  had  been  an  infant,  and  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  Cliffs.  At  any  other  time  the  feat 
would  have  been  impossible  ;  but  a  strength  not  my 
own  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been  granted  to  me, 
and  ere  morning  dawned,  I  had  reached  my  little  cot- 
tage in  safety. 

I  had  imagined  her  dead  ;  but,  to  my  surprise  and 
joy,  I  soon  discovered  signs  of  life.  Having  a  little 
knowledge  of  surgery,  I  examined  the  wound,  and 
discovered  that,  though  dangerous,  it  was  far  from 
being  mortal.  I  applied  such  remedies  as  I  knew  to 
be  good  in  such  a  case  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days,  she  began  to  recover.  I  did  not  wish  to  tell 
her  friends,  knowing  they  would  disturb  her  with 


.iw.uiii  gwggaBswffTWffu 


BDITH's   8T0HT. 


307 


visits,  and  perhaps  insist  on  having  her  removed — 
a  proceeding  which  I  knew  would  be  highly  danger- 
ous. The  world  calls  me  odd,  and  eccentric — per- 
haps this  was  one  of  my  eccentricities  ;  besides, 
I  wished  to  have  the  pleasure  of  returning  to  her 
family  she  whom  they  imagined  dead.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  any  one  but  the  real  murderer 
would  be  arrested.  Judge,  therefore,  of  my  surprise, 
when  the  first  time  I  left  home  I  learned  that  Fred- 
eric Stanley  had  been  arrested,  and  was  about  to  be 
tried  for  her  murder.  I  lost  no  time  in  hastening 
here — and  here  I  am." 

And  then  such  another  shout  as  rent  the  air  ! — the 
crowd  seemed  to  have  gone  wild.  Then  the  court 
was  adjourned,  and  the  prisoner  ilischarged,  and 
Edith  went  over  and  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked 
up  in  his  face  with  her  love-beaming  fjyes. 

The  friends  of  Fred  were  now  pressing  around 
to  shake  hands  and  congratulate  him  on  his  tri- 
umphant vindication.  And  first  among  them  came 
Gus,  with  "  a  smile  on  his  lip  and  a  tear  in  his  eye," 
— and  who  shook  Fred's  hand  until  it  ached,  and 
who  squeezed  Edith's  little  hand  until  her  fingers 
tingled.  Then  way  was  made  for  Major  Percival 
and  his  son,  the  dense  crowd  opening  right  and  left 
to  allow  them  to  pass.  Their  meeting  was  not 
a  very  demonstrative  one — it  could  not  be  in  that 
crowded  court-room  ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  heart- 
felt and  deep  for  that. 

•'  And  Fred,  papa  ?"  said  Edith,  gently. 

The  face  of  the  major  grew  red  with  a  flush  of 
honest  shame  and  embarrassment,  as  he  held  out  his 
hand.  For  a  moment  Fred  hesitated  ;  all  his  pride 
rose  as  he  recollected  the  many  indignities  he  had 
received  from  the  man  before  him.     Edith  saw  the 


fe 


308 


EDITHS  8T0RY. 


f  fei  t\ 


Struggle  in  his  mind,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm 
and  lifting  her  soft,  reproachful  eyes  to  his  face, 
she  said  : 

"  Dear  Fred  !" 

He  could  not  resist  that  witching  glance.  The 
next  moment,  his  hand  grasped  that  of  the  major's 
in  the  warm  clasp  of  friendship. 

"  And  thus  do  I  atone  for  the  past,"  said  the  major, 
placing  the  hand  of  Edith  in  that  of  Fred. 

In  that  moment,  the  past — all  its  wrongs,  and 
sorrows,  and  suffering  were  forgotten.  That  instant 
of  bliss  more  than  compensated  for  the  troubled, 
stormy  past. 

There  was  one  other  whose  eyes  fell  on  that  scene. 
Ralph  De  Lisle,  pinioned  like  a  malefactor,  and  led 
out  between  two  officers,  saw  it  as  he  passed.  He 
gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage,  and  his  eyes,  in 
their  frenzied  despair,  glared  upon  them  like  the 
burning  orbs  of  a  tiger.  Such  a  look  of  undying 
hate  and  fierce  anguish  Lucifer  might  have  worn, 
when  cast  from  heaven.  His  livid  lips  opened  to 
heap  curses  upon  them,  but  words  refused  to  come. 
His  face  grew  black  and  convulsed — his  eyes  turned 
in  their  sockets — he  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  to 
the  ground,  had  not  the  officers  supported  him  in 
their  arms. 

As  they  raised  him  from  the  ground,  a  dark  stream 
of  blood  flowed  from  his  mouth.  In  his  agony  of 
rage  and  despair,  he  had  ruptured  a  bloodvessel. 

They  bore  him  off  to  prison,  while  the  spectators 
gazed  on,  horror-struck.  Faint  and  sick,  Edith  hid 
her  face  in  her  brother's  shoulder,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Nugent,  turning  away,  pale  with 
horror,  as  he  passed  his  arm  around  his  sister's  waist, 
to  lead  her  from  the  room. 


Edith's  story. 


30d 


*'  You  will  accompanj^  us,  of  course*'  said  the  major, 
in  an  imperative  tone  to  Fred,  who  glanced  at  Edith, 
and  bowed,  with  a  smile.  "And  you,  too,"  added 
the  major,  turning  to  the  Hermit,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed,  as  if  fascinated,  on  Sir  William  Stanley — as, 
borne  along  by  the  swaying  rush,  he  was  appror.clii  g 
them, 

"  No,"  said  tne  hermit,  gravely  ;  "  my  task  is 
ended,  and  I  must  return  home." 

"  Oh,  pray  come  with  us  !"  said  Edith,  eagerly  ; 
"you  will  be  much  happier,  I  am  sure,  than  living 
all  alone  among  those  dreary  cliffs." 

But  the  hermit  only  shook  his  head,  and  steadily 
refused. 

Finding  entreaties  vain,  they  turned  to  go  out — 
when,  unable  to  extricate  himself  from  the  crowd, 
Sir  William  Stanley  stood  directly  beside  them.  All 
paused,  in  momentary  expectation.  Fred's  cheek 
flushed,  and  his  heart  throbbed,  as  he  caught  his 
father's  eye.  He  would  have  held  out  his  hand,  but 
the  baronet's  stern  look  forbade  it.  Lifting  his  hat 
to  Edith,  he  bowed  coldly  to  the  rest,  and  passed  on, 
with  the  same  look  of  iron  inflexibility  his  hard  face 
always  wore.  Suddenly,  his  eye  fell  on  the  Hermit, 
who  was  half  hidden  behind  the  tall  figure  of  Fred. 
He  gave  a  sudden  start,  as  though  he  had  received 
a  galvanic  shock — his  face  grew  deadly  white,  and 
then  deepest  crimson,  as  he  plunged  into  the  crowd 
and  disappeared. 

A  carriage  was  in  waiting,  to  convey  them  to  Per- 
cival  Hall.  The  hermit,  in  spite  of  their  united 
entreaties,  persisted  in  refusing  to  accompany  them, 
and  at  the  door  bade  them  farewell.  The  major, 
Edith,  Nugent,  Fred,  and  Gus  therefore  entered,  and 
were  soon  on  their  way  home. 


\ 


m 


I  i 


f^  I 


<     ! 


310 


"the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 


They  traveled  slowly,  for  Edith  was  still  weak  ; 
and  the  next  day,  about  noon,  arrived  at  the  hall^ 
Who  can  describe  tiie  meeting  that  there  ensued  ? 
Joy  seldom  kills,  and  though  the  shock  nearly  ex- 
tinguished the  slight  spark  of  life  that  yet  lingered 
in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Percival,  she  slowly  began  to 
recover.  As  for  Nell,  her  first  impulse  was  to  embrace 
every  one  present,  which  she  accordingly  did,  to  the 
great  disgust  of  Gus — who  would  have  been  infi- 
nitely better  pleased  to  have  received  them  all  himself. 
That  young  lady  remained  quite  serious  for  a  day  or 
two  ;  but  after  that  she  became  the  same  incorrigi- 
ble she  had  been  before.  And  Gus,  driven  to  des- 
peration, declared  that,  of  all  the  trials  his  friend 
had  been  afflicted  with,  he  had  never  to  endure  so 
SAvere  a  trial  as  Nell  Percival. 


y  ;l 


irH 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

"  Burning  heart  and  beating  brow 
Ye  are  very  quiet  now  " — E.  B.  BROWNING. 

It  was  night — dark,  chill,  and  dismal.  The  rain 
pattered  like  spectral  figures  against  the  grated 
windows,  the  wind  moaned  and  wailed  drearily 
without. 

In  his  cold,  fireless  cell,  sat  the  once  gay  and 
handsome  Ralph  De  Lisle.  Dark  and  wild  was 
the  storm  without,  and  darker  and  wilder  was  the 
heart  within  his  bosom.     His  face  was  blanched  to 


"the  WAGK8  OP  SIN  18  DEATH." 


311 


the  hue  of  death,  and  looked  still  whiter,  contrasted 
with  his  heavy  black  locks.  He  was  half-reclining 
on  his  wretched  bed — lying  so  still,  so  motionless, 
that  one  might  have  tiiought  him  dead,  but  for  the 
fierce  living  light  blazing  in  his  wild,  black  eyes. 

It  was  wonderful  how  he  could  lie  there  so  immov- 
able, with  such  a  fire  in  his  heart  ;  the  burning  fire 
of  remorse.  All  his  life  seemed  passing  in  review 
before  him,  and  he  almost  shuddered  to  find  himself 
so  young  in  years,  yet  so  old  in  crime.  His  part  in 
the  drama  of  life  was  over  ;  and  the  world  would  go 
round  as  though  he  never  had  existed.  He  felt  like 
a  man  who  has  staked  his  all  on  the  gaming-table, 
and  lost.  The  world  had  been  to  him  a  chess-board, 
and  men  and  women  had  moved  as  he  willed  ;  but 
an  unseen  though  powerful  hand  had  been  playing 
against  him  ;  another  had  won,  and  Ralph  De  Lisle 
was  check-mated  in  the  great  game  of  life. 

Like  some  dark  panorama,  all  the  events  of  his 
life  were  still  passing  before  him.  He  thought  of 
the  past — of  his  boyhood,  with  all  its  bright  prom- 
ises, high  hopes,  and  glorious  delusions.  How  easy 
all  those  noble  projects  seemed  of  realization  then  ! 
but  like  the  mirage  of  the  desert,  one  by  one  they 
had  faded  away  at  his  approach.  His  radiant  day- 
dreams had  all  set  in  a  sea  of  blood  and  crime,  and 
he  had  went  down,  down,  in  his  rapid  career  of 
crime,  not  daring  to  look  back  at  the  height  from 
which  he  had  fallen.  And  then  came  his  visions  of 
that  bright  land  of  light  and  roses,  where  Edith 
reigned  queen  ;  and  once  more  beseemed  wandering 
with  her  through  the  dim  mystic  aisles  of  the  grand 
old  wood,  and  watching,  with  his  old  feeling  of 
adoration,  the  golden  sunlight  falling  on  her  flowing 
hair.     His  prison  walls  stretched  away,  and  he  saw 


■il' 


312 


it 


I'HB  WAGES  OF  BIN  IB  DEATH. 


n 


;t  i.    ■    •]' 


■  i     3 


himself  standing  in  the  lofty  rooms  of  Percival  Hall, 
with  Edith  blushing  and  smiling  beside  him,  his 
betrothed  bride.  He  saw  her  so  vividly  before  him 
with  her  sunny  smile,  and  her  blue,  love-beaming 
eyes  sinking  beneath  his,  that  the  almost  forgotten 
love  of  other  days  came  back,  and  with  the  irrepres- 
sible cry,  "Oh,  Edith  !  my  hope!  my  dream  !  my 
life  !"  he  stretched  out  his  arms,  almost  expecting  to 
enfold  the  radiant  vision  before  him.  It  faded  away 
in  thin  air,  and  he  awoke  with  a  start  from  the  trance 
into  which  he  was  falling. 

The  past  was  gone  ;  he  could  think  of  it  no  longer. 
And  the  present !  Could  this  be  he,  Ralph  De  Lisle, 
the  high-born,  the  haughty — this  convicted  felon. 
Had  all  his  daring  projects,  all  his  bold  schemes, 
from  which  less  reckless  minds  would  have  shrunk — 
all  his  fearless  deeds,  come  to  this  at  last  ?  He  had 
trampled  the  solemn  commands  of  God  and  the 
slavish  laws  of  men  alike  under  his  feet ;  he  had 
committed  crimes  that  no  other  would  have  dared 
to  contemplate,  until  he  had  begun  to  fancy  himself 
above  punishment.  He  had  went  on  so  long  in  his 
reckless  career  of  crime  with  impunity,  that  he  had 
forgotten  a  day  of  reckoning  must  yet  come  ;  and 
now  he  realized  it  at  length.  He  could  have  made 
his  escape  after  his  diabolical  crime  had  been  perpe- 
trated, but  some  pov/er  within  chained  him  to  the 
spot.  He  felt  sure  Fred  Stanley  would  be  convicted 
and  that  his  triumph  would  be  complete.  After  the 
execution  of  his  rival,  his  intention  was  to  return  to 
England,  and  in  God-forgetting  London  lose  the 
recollection  of  the  past.  But  all  his  projects  had 
fallen  to  the  ground  with  a  crash  ;  she  whom  he 
imagined  dead  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  his  hated 


'7 


"thb  wages  of  sin  is  death." 


313 


foe,  and  her  stern  father  smiled  on  their  union  ;  a 
life  of  happiness  was  before  them — and  he  was  here. 

What  had  the  future  in  store  for  him  ?  His  trial 
was  soon  to  come  ;  and  he  saw  the  eyes  of  the  crowd 
fixed  upon  him  in  hatred  and  derision.  They,  whom 
if  at  liberty  he  would  have  spurned  under  his  feet, 
could  now  point  to  him  in  scorn  as  the  foiled  assas- 
sin. If  the  law  found  him  g^iilty  and  he  was  con- 
demned ! — He  shuddered  as  the  gallows  and  all  the 
fearful  paraphernalia  of  a  felon's  death  rose  before 
him.  The  maddened  crowd,  glaring  at  him  with 
their  savage  eyes,  and  ready  to  tear  him  limb  from 
limb  as  they  had  attempted  to  do  in  the  court-house. 
And  his  rival,  his  mortal  enemy,  would  be  there  to 
exult  over  his  ignominious  death  ? 

But  his  life  might  be  saved  !  True,  he  was  as 
much  a  murderer  as  though  his  victim  had  perished 
in  the  burning  house  ;  but  the  law  might  not  find 
him  so.  And  if  he  was  spared,  what  then  ?  A  long 
life-time  of  drudgery  among  felons,  the  lowest  of  the 
low,  until  death  would  place  him  in  a  convict's  des- 
pised grave ! 

Those  hands,  small  and  white  as  a  woman's,  must 
grow  hard  and  coarse  with  unceasing  toil ;  and  he,  a 
De  Lisle,  born  to  wealth  and  honor,  must  herd 
with  thieves  and  murderers  for  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  The  picture  grew  too  horrible  to  be  longer 
endured.  He  sprang  from  his  bed,  with  the  perspi- 
ration standing  in  great  beaded  drops  on  his  brow — 
his  hand  clenched  until  the  nails  sank  into  the  quiv- 
ering flesh — his  eyes  bloodshot  and  glaring — an 
expression  of  horror  unutterable  on  his  ghastly  face  ! 
Oh,  in  that  moment,  how  fearful  was  the  madden- 
ing storm  of  passion  in  his  guilty  heart !  A  life- 
time   of    agony   seemed    concentrating    into    each 


i 


!  ; 


3U 


"the  wages  of  sin  is  death.*' 


u  I » 


1    ir 

It       l:i 

1    '"it 

1     1 

11 

second  as  it  passed  ;  the  blood  seemed  to  pour  like 
molten  lead  through  every  vein  ;  a  wheel  of  fire 
seemed  crashing  through  his  brain  ;  his  very  eyes 
seemed  like  red-hot  balls  of  fire. 

He  strode  up  and  down  like  a  maniac,  and  sprmg- 
ing  to  the  window,  shook  the  iron  bars  with  the 
fierce  strength  of  madness  !  His  hands  were  cut 
and  bleeding,  but  he  heeded  it  not,  as  he  struggled 
like  a  caged  tiger  to  wrench  them  away.  All  in 
vain  !  the  strong  grating  resisted  all  his  efforts,  and 
he  fell  heavily  with  his  face  on  the  stone  floor.  His 
head  struck  on  something  sharp,  and  the  blood 
rained  down  from  a  gash  in  his  forehead.  He 
pressed  his  hand  to  the  wound,  and  gazed  on  the 
flowing  blood  with  a  smile  that  might  have  chilled 
the  stoutest  heart. 

"  Never  shall  they  sc  degrade  Ralph  De  Lisle," 
he  shouted,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  This  night  the 
tragedy  shall  be  completed,  and  the  gaping  mob 
cheated  of  its  victim  !  Do  I  not  hold  my  life  in  my 
own  hands  !  and  shall  I  live  to  become  a  mark  for 
the  finger  of  scorn  to  point  at  ?  Never  !  To  this 
world,  with  all  its  dreams  and  delusions  ;  to  sun,  and 
moon,  and  stars,  I  will  this  night  bid  adieu.  Ere 
morning  dawns,  this  body,  and  the  spirit  it  contains, 
will  have  sunk  into  nothingness. 

Into  nothingness  !  Was  it  a  dream,  or  was  it  the 
mocking  laugh  of  a  fiend  that  rang  through  the 
lonely  cell. 

"  Eternity  !  eternity  !"  he  said,  passing  his  hand 
across  his  clammy  brow  ;  "  can  it  be  that  what 
preachers  tell  us  is  true,  and  that  there  really  is  an 
hereafter  ?  My  mother  taught  me  so  once — my 
mother  !  fiend  that  I  am,  dare  I  mention  her  sacred 
name  !    Well,  in  a  few  moments  I  will  have  solved 


"the  wages  of  sin  is  DEA.TH." 


815 


that  problem,  and  have  learned  the  mystery  that  no 
living  man  can  ever  know." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  listened.  How  the 
driving  rain  beat  against  that  little  casement,  how 
the  wind  howled  and  roared.  It  seemed  to  hira  like 
the  voice  of  the  Destroyer,  shouting  impatiently  for 
his  prey.  From  the  black  pall  of  night  that  no  eye 
could  penetrate,  white  spectral  faces  seemed  gleam- 
ing, mocking  him  with  their  deriding  '.aughter.  He 
turned  away  ;  amid  the  war  of  the  elements  and  the 
roar  of  the  tempest,  should  his  dark,  crime-stained 
soul  go  forth. 

The  storm  passed  away  with  the  morning's  dawn. 
The  bright  summer  sunshine  was  streaming  glori- 
ously through  the  window  when  the  jailer  entered. 
And  there,  right  in  the  glow  of  the  blessed  sunlight, 
hung  the  convulsed  form  of  Ralph  De  Lisle — dead 
— by  his  own  hand. 

Of  all  the  sights  which  the  sun  rose  upon,  it 
looked  on  none  more  fearful  than  that.  Without 
the  prison  walls,  the  stream  of  busy  life  flowed  mer- 
rily on  ;  the  bride  stood  at  the  altar,  the  man  of 
business  hurried  by,  and  people  talked  and  laughed 
as  though  despair  was  a  word  unknown  ;  and  with- 
in, stark  and  cold  in  the  glare  of  the  sunlight,  lay  the 
rigid  form  of  the  dead  man,  his  face  upturned  to  the 
sky,  and  staring  wide  open  were  the  glassy  eyes  that 
never  would  look  on  aught  in  this  world  again  ! 


'I 


316 


A   STARTLING   DI800VBBY. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


A    STARTLING    DISCOVERY. 


! 


i    i 


ii.i  U] 


Hi  ■ 


■i  mi 
I- 


lu 


nm 


V  And  thus  through  all  my  life  it  stalked, 
That  deadly,  deadly  sin  ! 
Though  e'er  so  fair  the  outside  mirth. 
The  spectre  sat  within." 

**  Go,  Elva,  go  !     I  musf  see  him  before  I  die  !** 

"  Oh,  father  !  listen  to  the  storm  !  How  can  I  go 
out  to-night  !" 

"Girl  !  I  tell  you  I  musf  see  him — I  must !  Do  you 
hear  >  Even  though  fire  were  falling  from  heaven, 
you  should  have  to  go  forth,  and  bring  him  to  me!  ** 

"  But,  father,  I  know  not  where  he  is  !  I  could 
brave  the  storm  ;  but  you  may  die  here  before  I 
return." 

"I  cannot  die — I  will  not  die  before  you  return  !'* 
almost  screamed  Paul  Snowe,  tossing  in  wild  delir- 
ium on  his  pillow.  "Go,  and  find  Sir  William  Stan- 
ley, I  tell  you,  and  bring  him  here  to  me.  I  cannot 
die  until  I  have  seen  him." 

It  was  that  same  tempestuous  night  on  which 
Ralph  de  Lisle  had  breathed  his  last ;  and  now  his 
accomplice  in  crime,  Paul  Snowe,  lay  wounded  unto 
death.  Strange  that,  on  the  same  night,  both  should 
be  doomed  to  die." 

He  lay  in  the  little  room  of  the  inn,  near  Percival 
Hall.  It  was  the  same  house  in  which  Dti  Lisle  had 
planned  the  murder  of  Edith  a  few  weeks  before. 
Perhaps  the  recollection  of  that  night  added  to  his 
delirium,  as  he  tossed  on  his  bed  in  feverish  agony. 


Hiflir* 


A  STARTLINO  DI800VBBT. 


817 


A  week  before,  as  he  loitered  round  the  village, 
bound  by  some  unaccountable  fascination]to  the  place 
of  the  supposed  murder,  he  had  been  stabbed  in  a 
drunken  brawl.  Finding  his  days  were  numbered 
he  had  caused  them  to  send  for  his  daughter,  Elva, 
who  had  arrived  a  few  hours  before. 

Troubled  and  anxious,  Elva  threw  her  cloak 
over  her  shoulders,  and,  tying  on  her  hood,  hurried 
out  into  the  driving  rain.  As  she  passed  out,  she 
encountered  the  burly  landlord,  who  gazed  at  her  as 
though  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

"  Jerusalem  !"  he  ejaculated,  in  amazement  **  you 
ain't  surely  going  out  anywhere  in  the  storm,  Miss 
Snowe  ?" 

"  Can  you  teli  me  where  Sir  William  Stanley  is  to 
be  found  ?"  inquired  Elva,  hurriedly. 

"  Well,  no,  I  rayly  can't ;  but  his  son  lives  up  to 
Percival  Hall.     Likely  he  can  tell  you." 

"  Percival  Hall !"  said  Elva,  with  a  start.  *\Does  if 
belong  to  Major  Percival." 

"  Yes'm." 

"  Has  he  a  daughter,  Edith  ?"  inquired  Elva,  with 
increasing  agitation. 

"Yes'm,"  again  responded  mine  host,  looking 
rather  surprised  at  the  emotion  she  manifested. 

*' Edith  !  dear  Miss  Edith  !"  exclaimed  the  impul- 
sive Elva,  in  a  sort  of  rapture,  as  she  darted  out  into 
the  blinding  storm. 

"  Well,  I  never  !"  said  the  jolly  landlord,  opening 
his  eyes  in  amazement,  until  they  resembled  two  mid- 
night moons. 

In  a  moment  she  was  back  again,  and  by  his  side. 

"Can  you  tell  me  which  way  I  must  go  to  reach 
Percival  Hall  ?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"  Yes'm.     Keep  on  straight  for  a  spell,  then  turn 


I 


f      1 


318 


A  STARTLING  DISOOVEBY, 


to  the  right,  and  take  the  forest  road.  Mind,  and 
don't  go  the  other  way,  or  you'll  break  your  neck 
over  the  cliffs.  You'd  better  let  me  send  Jemmy 
along  with  you,  to  show  you  the  way,  'cause — oh  ! 
she's  gone  !  She's  a  queer  one,  and  no  mistake," 
said  the  worthy  landlord,  hastening  to  raise  up  the 
spirits  of  his  guests  by  pouring  his  own  spirits  down. 

Meantime,  Elva  pursued  her  lonely  way  through 
the  driving  rain  and  blinding  storm,  toward  Percival 
Hall,  almost  flying  along,  in  her  haste  to  reach  it.  I 
scarcely  know  whether  it  is  proper  to  tell  a  young 
lady's  thoughts  or  not;  but  certain  it  is  that,  though 
ddith  occupied  a  prominent  place  in  her  mind, 
Edith's  brother  occupied  a  place  still  more  promi- 
nenter  (I  don't  know  whether  that's  according  to 
Webster,  or  not). 

But  Elva,  bewildered  by  the  storm,  her  own 
thoughts,  her  haste,  and  the  strangeness  of  the  place, 
forgot  the  landlord's  directions,  and  took  the  road 
leading  to  the  cliffs.  On  she  went,  stumbling  and 
slipping  over  rocks  and  crags,  at  the  imminent 
danger  of  breaking  her  neck.  Suddenly,  the  flash  of 
a  liglit  caught  her  eye,  and,  walking  in  that  direc- 
tion, she  soon  found  herself  before  the  home  of  the 
Hermit  of  the  Cliffs.  Elva  rapped  loudly  ;  and,  a 
rioment  after,  the  door  opened,  and  the  hermit  stood 
before  her,  holding  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  the  full  light 
of  which  fell  on  his  imposing  figu**e. 

With  a  half-suppressed  scream  of  mingled  terror 
and  surprise  at  this  singular  apparition,  Elva  turned 
to  fly,  when  she  was  arrested  by  the  mild,  kind  voice 
of  the  hermit : 

"  Fear  not,  my  daughter  ;  the  Hermit  of  **^e  Cliffs 
is  the  friend  of  all  mankind." 

Elva  paused,  and  stood  hesitating. 


A  STARTLING  DISCOVERT. 


819 


"  Come  in  out  of  tbe  storm,  my  child.  It  is  a  wild 
night  for  a  young  girl  like  you  to  be  abroad." 

Reassured  by  his  friendly  words,  and  wishing  to 
know  more  of  this  strange-looking  personage,  Elva, 
who  was  naturally  courageous,  entered  the  cottage. 

She  glanced  curiously  around,  but  there  was 
nothing  very  singular  about  it.  It  was  fitted  up  as 
any  other  common  room  might  have  been,  and  was 
singularly  neat  and  clean. 

'*  Now,  my  child,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  said  the 
hermit,  in  his  grave,  pleasant  tones. 

"  I  started  for  Percival  Hall,"  answered  Elva, 
"and,  being  a  stranger  here,  I  lost  my  way  ;  and, 
guided  by  the  light  of  your  lamp,  1  wandered  here, 
and  sought  admittance." 

"You  had  better  stay  here  until  morning,"  said 
the  hermit ;  "  the  night  is  too  stormy  for  you  to  ven- 
ture abroad." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  cannot.  My  father  is  dying,  and  I 
cannot  rest  until  he  sees  Sir  William  Stanley.  I  must 
hasten  to  Percival  Hall  immediately,  if  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  show  me  the  way." 

"Sir  William  Stanley,  did  I  understand  you  to 
say  ?"  said  the  hermit,  with  a  sudden  start. 

"  Yes.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  to  find 
him  ?" 

"  Who  is  your  father,  child  ?"  asked  the  hermit, 
without  heeding  her  question. 

"  His  name  is  Paul  Snowe,"  replied  Elva. 

"What !"  exclaimed  the  hermit,  almost  boune.ing 
from  the  floor. 

"  His  name  is  Paul  Snowe,"  repeated  Elva,  draw- 
ing back  in  surprise  and  alarm. 

"Good  Heavens  !  is  it  possible  !"  said  the  hermit, 


i  !l 


'  I'' 


m 


520 


▲   8TABTLIN0   DISCOVERY. 


deeply  excited.  "  And  are  you  Paul  Snowe's  daugh* 
tcr  ?•' 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  astonished  Elva. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?** 

*'  Elvena  Snowe." 

**  Elvena  !  Elvena  !"  repeated  the  hermit.  "  Can 
there  be  two  Elvena  Snowes  in  the  world  ?" 

"Sir,  I  must  go,"  said  Elva,  in  alarm,  beginning  to 
think  him  insane. 

"  Wait  one  moment,  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said 
the  hermit,  cloaking  himself  with  wonderful  celtrity. 
"  Can  it  be  that  I  will  see  Paul  Snowe  yet  once  again 
before  I  die  ?" 

They  passed  out,  and  the  hermit  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  inn,  holding  Elva  firmly  by  the  hand. 

"But  I  must  go  to  Percival  Hall,"  said  Elva, 
drawing  back. 

"Why  ?" 

"To  see  Sir  William  Stanley." 

"He  is  not  there,  child  !" 

"  His  son  is,  then,  and  he  can  tell  me  where  to  find 
him.     I  must  go,"  said  Elva,  wildly. 

"  His  son  knows  no  more  of  his  whereabouts  than 
you  do,  Elvena.  Believe  me :  it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  find  him  to-night.  If  Paul  Snowe  wishes  any- 
thing, I  will  do  as  well  as  Paul  Stanley.  Do  not  hes- 
itate," he  added,  as  Elva  still  hung  back  ;  "I  repeat, 
it  is  utterly  impossible  for  you  to  find  him^  to-night. 
Come." 

Elva  felt  convinced  that  he  spoke  the  truth,  and, 
seeing  no  alternative,  she  allowed  him  to  draw  her 
on,  inwardly  dreading  to  meet  her  father  without 
the  man  for  whom  she  had  been  sent. 

On  reaching  the  inn,  the  hermit  demanded  to  be 
mt  once  shown  to  the  chamber  of  the  sick  man.    As 


A   8TARTUNO   DI800VEET. 


321 


they  entered,  Paul  Snowe  half  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  glared  at  them  with  his  inflamed  eyes. 

"  Elva,  is  it  you  ?"  he  cried.  "  Have  you  brought 
Sir  William  Stanley  ?     Ha  !  who  are  you  ?" 

**  Your  best  friend,  Paul  Snowe,"  said  the  hermit, 
advancing  to  his  bedside. 

•*  I  shoukl  know  that  voice.     Who  arcyou  ?" 

"Men  call  me  the  •  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs,'  but  you 
knew  me  by  another  name  once,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  Sir  William  Stanley,  where  is  he,  Elva? 
Elva,  did  you  not  bring  him  ?"  exclaimed  the 
wounded  man  in  an  agony  of  alarm. 

"  My  friend,  you  cannot  see  him.  Sir  William 
Stanley  is  many  a  mile  from  here.  You  will  never 
meet  him  in  this  world  again,  for  your  hours  are 
numbered.  Anything  you  wish  to  tell  him,  confide 
in  me,  and,  believe  me,  he  shall  hear  it." 

**  Can  I — dare  I  tell  you  ?  You  will  not  have  me 
arrested  V  said  the  invalid,  wildly. 

"  No,  my  friend  ;  you  are  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  laws.     Speak,  and  fear  not." 

"  Men  say  you  are  good  and  generous,"  laid  Paul, 
tossing  restlessly  ;  "  therefore,  since  it  cannot  be 
helped,  I  will  tell  you.  Elva,  leave  the  room. 
Listen  ;  what  I  have  to  say  concerns  her." 

"  Your  daughter,  Elva  ?" 

"  She  is  no  daughter  of  mine  ;  neither  is  her  name 
Elva.  I  stole  her  when  a  child.  Her  name  is  Zei/a 
Stanley  r 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  hermit's  face,  to  see  what 
effect  this  announcement  would  have ;  but  beyond 
one  sudden,  convulsive  start,  he  betrayed  no  emo- 
tion. 

*'  Go  on,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

**  To  tell  why  I  stole  her,  it  will  be   necessary  to 


[ 


II 


322 


A   STARTLING    DISCOVERY. 


Wi 


go  back  in  my  history.     I  once  had  a  sister — her 
name  was  Elvena — whom  I  loved  as  I  never  loved 
any  other  human  being  in  this  world.     She  grew  up 
a  beautiful  girl — the  pride  and  belle  of  our  village  ; 
but  in  an  evil   hour  she  met  Sir  William  Stanley. 
He  was  young  and  handsome  in  those  days,  and  she 
soon  learned  to  love  him.     He  pretended  to  return 
her  affection  ;  and,  under  an  assumed  name,  he  wooed 
and  won  her.     Sht  became  his  wife — little  dreaming 
she  had  wedded  a  baronet.     Well,  I  must  hurry  on 
for  I  feel  that  I  have  but  a  few  moments  to  live.    He 
used  to  go  to  England,  under  pretense  of  business, 
and,  during  one  of  the  occasions,  he  married  again, 
some   high-born   lady.     He   had   grown  tired  of  his 
first  wife,  for  he  was  always  a  heartless  villain  ;  but 
he  w&nted   his  son  (they  had  one   child).     He  came 
and  forcibly  tore  him   away,  and  departed  for  Eng- 
land.    I  don't  know  what  story  he  told  Lady  Stanley 
about  the  child  ;  probably  that  he  had  been  married 
and  that  his  wife  was  dead,  or  some  other  convenient 
lie.     I  was  absent  at  the  time,  but  when    I  returned 
I   learned    what   had  happened — that   my  sister  had 
gone  crazy,  and   wandered  off,  and,  as  we  afterwards 
learned,  died  in  a  distant  village.     1  swore  a  fearful 
oath  of   vengeance,  and    that    oath    has  been    kept. 
Years  passed  on    before  I  could   go  to   England,  and 
seek  out  my  sister's  murderer.     I  found  him   out  at 
last,    and    learned    that    he    had    another    child — a 
daughter,  whom   both  he  and  Lady  Stanley  almost 
idolized.     He  had    stolen  Elvena's  child  from  her, 
and  so  caused   her  death.     He  should  suffer  as  she 
had  done — he,  too,  should  know  what  it  was  to  lose 
a  child  ;  and  one  day,  when  she  was  out  playing,  I 
carried  her  off." 

"My  first  intention  had  been  to  kill   little  Leila, 


A   STARTUNG   DISCOVERY. 


323 


but  1  could  not  do  it.  As  you  may  imagine  there 
was  a  mighty  uproar  made  about  Sir  William  Stan- 
ley's child  being  kidnapped  ;  the  whole  country  was 
aroused,  but  I  eluded  them  all.  I  hac"  a  friend — 
the  mate  of  a  small  trading-vessel,  and  his  wife 
consented  to  take  care  of  the  little  lady.  I  gave  her 
my  dead  sister's  name,  and,  as  Leila  grew  up,  she 
forgot  she  ever  had  any  other  parent  but  me.  I 
brought  her  here,  and,  after  a  time,  fell  in  with 
Ralph  De  Lisle,  and  joined  his  reckless  band  of 
licensed  cut-throats. 

"But  during  all  those  years,  undying  remorse  for 
what  I  had  done  haunted  me  day  and  night.  Lady 
Stanley  had  died  shortly  after  her  child's  loss  ;  and 
when  I  heard  of  it,  I  felt  as  though  I  were  a  mur- 
derer. Do  what  I  would,  reason  as  I  pleased,  my 
accusing  conscience  slept  not.  I  was  not  one  to 
inspire  affection,  but  I  think  Elva  really  likes  me.  I. 
grew  fond  of  the  child  myself,  but  I  never  could 
endure  her  caresses  ;  for  at  such  times  the  recollec- 
tion of  what  I  had  done  would  rush  upon  me  with 
double  force  ;  and  I  would  think  how  she  would 
shrink  from  me  in  horror,  did  she  know  to  what  I 
had  reduced  her — the  heiress  of  a  baronet. 

"  In  after  years,  I  met  Sir  William  Stanley's  son. 
Loving  my  sister  as  I  did,  it  may  seem  strange  to 
you  I  did  not  love  her  child  also  ;  but  I  hated  him 
for  his  father's  sake.  He  was  once  imprisoned  by  De 
Lisle,  and  liberated  by  Elva,  who  little  dreamed  she 
was  freeing  her  own  brother. 

"As  I  told  you,  my  undying  remorse  gave  me  no 
rest,  and  I  resolved,  at  last,  to  tell  Sir  Williain  Stan- 
ley what  I  had  done,  and  then,  if  possible,  fly  the 
country.     But  the  hand  of  Providence  overtook  me, 


\\ 


r 


324 


A   STARTLING  DISOOVEET. 


In:v: 


and  my  tale  of  crime  has  been  reserved  for  a  dealh- 
bed  confession. 

"  The  dress  Elva  wore  the  day  I  stole  her  is  in 
yonder  chest,"  continued  the  dying  man,  pointing 
faintly  in  the  direction  ;  "  also,  a  small  locket,  con- 
taining her  mother's  portrait.  If  anything  further  is 
needed  to  establish  her  identity,  there  is  a  peculiar 
mark  on  her  arm  that  cannot  be  mistaken,  and  will 
set  at  rest  all  doubts.  And  now,  thank  Heaven,  my 
story  is  ended,  and  justice  has  been  done  at  last.  It 
is  said  that  you  have  great  power  over  Sir  William 
Stanley  ;  therefore,  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  in- 
ducing him  to  believe  my  dying  words." 

"  Thus  it  is  that  Heaven  ever  confounds  the  wicked, 
and  brings  hidden  things  of  darkness  to  light.  Thus 
it  is  that  justice  shall  be  rendered  unto  all  men  at 
last,"  said  the  hermit,  clasping  bis  hands  solemnly. 

"  That  voice  ! — that  voice  !"  said  Paul  Snowe, 
raising  himself  wildly  on  his  pillow.  "  Has  the  grave 
given  up  its  dead  ?  Are  you  a  man  or  a  being  from 
the  world  of  spirits  }    Great  Heaven,  are  you — ' 

Ere  the  Hermit  could  speak,  the  fearful  death- 
rattle  resounded  through  the  room.  He  clutched 
the  air  convulsively  with  his  hands,  his  features 
worked  convulsively,  his  eyes  grew  fixed  and  glassy, 
and  falling  heavily  back  v*n  his  pillow — all  was 
over  ! 


11 


AND   LAST. 


325 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


AND    LAST 


"All's  well  that  end's  well." 


Half  an  hour  passed  away  in  the  chamber  of  death, 
ere  the  Hermit  moved.  He  sat  gazing,  still  and 
silent,  on  tiie  rigid  form  before  him,  wondering,  per- 
haps, liow  such  fierce  passions  could  have  existed  in 
that  clay  cold  form. 

Then  he  arose,  and  opening  the  door,  beckoned 
Elva  to  enter.  Awed  by  the  expression  of  his  face 
she  stole  softly  into  the  room,  and  approached  the 
bed.  As  her  eyes  fell  on  the  rigid  figure  stretched 
upon  it,  she  sprang  back  with  a  wild  cry  of  grief. 

For  with  all  his  faults,  and  notwithstanding  all  his 
cruelty,  Elva  had  really  loved  Paul  Snowe.  He  had 
been  the  only  friend  and  protector  she  had  ever 
known,  and  with  a  passionate  exclamatioi,  "  Oh, 
father — father  !"  she  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  My  child,  grieve  not,"  said  the  Hermit,  laying 
his  hand  on  her  head.  "  Paul  Snowe  was  no  father 
of  thine  !" 

She  arose  and  stood  before  him,  with  pmrted  lips 
and  wonder-dilated  eyes. 

"  Not  my  father  ?'*  she  said.     "  Who,  then,  is  ?" 

"Sir  William  Stanley." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  still  stood  regarding  him  with 
such  a  wild,  startled  look  of  incredulity  and  amaze- 
ment, that  he  hastened  to  explain. 


ji 


I  i 

1   i\ 


-■r'jfe 


!.?3II 


326 


AND    LAST. 


"Sir  William  Stanley  had  wronged  him  ;  and  to 
revenge  himself,  he  stole  his  only  daughter.  Your 
name  is  not  Elva  Snowe,  but  Leila  Stanley." 

"And  this  was  why  he  implored  me  so  wildly  to 
bring  liim  Sir  William  Stanley,"  said  Elva,  in  a  low, 
breathless  tone,  almost  bewildered  by  this  sudden 
announcement. 

"  It  was  ;  he  could  not  die  in  peace  until  he  had 
confessed  what  he  had  done.  And  now  that  you 
know  how  deeply  he  has  wronged  you,  can  you  for- 
give him  ?" 

Elva  was  gazing  sadly  and  intently  upon  the 
death-cold  form  before  her.  At  the  Hermit's  ques- 
tion, she  looked  up,  and  said,  earnestly  : 

"  Forgive  him  ?  Oh,  yes,  as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven. 
But  tliis  seems  so  strange — so  improbable — so  like 
an  Eastern  romance.  Can  it  be  that  I  really  have  a 
father  living  ?" 

"  And  a  brother  likewise.  You  have  seen  Fred 
Stanley  .?" 

"  Yes — yes  ;  I  have  seen  him.  He  is  tall,  and 
dark,  and  handsome  as  a  prince.  And  he  is  my 
brother  !  Something  drew  me  toward  him  from  the 
first  ;  but  I  never,  never  could  have  imagined  any- 
thing so  wild  as  this  !  He  is  somewhere  near  this,  is 
he  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  at  Perci  val  Hall." 

"Shall  I  see  him  to-night  ?" 

"No;  it  were  better  not.  The  last  remains  of 
Paul  Snowe  must  be  consignel  to  the  grave  first. 
For  a  day  or  two  you  will  remain  with  me,  and  then 
all  shall  be  revealed." 


"  What  God  has  joined  together,  let  no  man  put 
asunder." 


K  :i. 


AND  LAST. 


327 


The  great  drawing-room  of  Percival  Hall  was 
ablaze  with  light.  From  basement  to  attic  the  house 
was  crowded  with  guests,  assembled  from  far  and 
near,  to  witness  the  nuptials  of  Major  Percival's 
daughters. 

Fred  and  Gus,  looking  excessively  happy,  and  very 
unnecessarily  handsome,  stood  before  the  venerable 
clergyman,  who,  in  full  canonicals  and  imposing 
dignity,  pronounced  the  words  that  made  them  the 
happiest  of  men.  Edith  and  Nell,  radiant  with  smiles 
and  white  satin,  blushes  and  orange  flowers,  stood 
by  their  side,  promising  dutifully  to  "  love,  honor, 
and  obey  ;"  although,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Nell 
hesitated  a  little  before  she  could  promise  the  latter. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  in  a  pomp- 
ous tone,  the  aritocratic  butler  announced  : 

"Sir  William  Stanley." 

Had  a  bomb  exploded  in  their  midst,  greater  con- 
sternation could  not  have  appeared  on  every  face 
present,  as  Sir  William — pale,  wild,  excited,  and 
agitated — stood  before  them. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure.  Sir  William," 
said  Major  Percival,  advancing  with  extended  hand. 

"  My  daughter — my  daughter  I  is  she  here  ?" 
demanded  the  baronet,  wildly. 

"  Your  daughter  ?"  said  Major  Percival,  in  surprise 
•*  If  you  mean  Edith — " 

"  No,  no,  no,  no  !  I  mean  my  cnun  child — my  long 
lost  daughter,  Leila." 

"  Can  he  be  deranged  ?"  said  the  major,  turning 
to  Fred,  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"  I  am  not  mad — read  that !"  said  Sir  William, 
handing  the  major  a  note. 

"  Go  to  Percival  Hall,"  it  said.  "  This  night  yo« 
shall  hear  of  your  lost  daughter,  Leila," 


n 


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Ml 

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if2S 


AND  LAST. 


« 


It  is  from  the  mysterious  Hermit  of  the  Cliffs,** 
said   the   major,  in   astonishment.     "  What   can   he 


mean 


v» 


"  What  he  says,"  said  a  calm,  clear  voice,  that 
made  them  all  start,  as  they  turned  and  beheld  the 
Hermit  in  their  midst. 

"  My  daughter — my  Leila — what  of  her  ?"  ex- 
claimed Sir  William,  striding  forward. 

"  Behold  her !"  said  the  Hermit,  stepping  back, 
and  every  eye  turned  to  the  slight  girlish  figure 
behind  him. 

"  Elva  Snowe !"  exclaimed  half  a  d^zen  voices, 
simultaneouslv,  while  the  baronet  started  back  sud- 
denly  at  the  name. 

"  Not  Elva  Snowe,  but  Leila  Stanley,"  said  the 
Hermit,  drawing  her  forward.  "On  his  death-bed, 
Paul  Snowe  confessed  he  had  stolen  her  and  resigned 
her  to  me.  This  trinket  was  on  her  person  when 
stolen.     Probably  you  recollect  it,  Sir  William." 

"Yes — yes  ;  it  was  I  who  placed  it  on  her  neck  ; 
but  if  Leila,  she  bears  on  her  arm  a  singular  mark — " 

"  Look,"  said  the  Hermit,  pushing  up  her  eleeve, 
and  exposing  a  little  crimson  heart  ;  "  are  you  con- 
vinced now  ?" 

"  My  child — my  child  !"  exclaimed  Sir  William, 
clasping  in  his  arms  the  shrinking  Elva.  "  Thank 
Heaven,  I  have  found  you  at  last !" 

Amazement  held  every  one  silent.  But  the  Her- 
mit advanced  and  said  : 

"  You  have  found  one  child  and  the  other — " 

"  Sliall  be  mine  likewise,"  interrupted  the  baronet, 
approaching  Fred,  "  if  he  can  forgive  the  past." 

"  Willingly,  joyfully,  my  dear  father  !"  said  Fred, 
grasping  his  hand,  while  tears  sprang  to  his  dark 
eves.      "And    Elva — Leila    rather — may  I  claim  a 


AND  LAST. 


829 


brother's  privilege  ?"  he  added,  pressing  his  mous- 
tached  lips  to  her  blushing  brow. 

"  And  now  for  a  still  more  surprising  discovery," 
said  Sir  William,  turning  with  much  agitation 
toward  the  Hermit.  '*  On  this  joyful  occasion  it  will 
not  do  to  have  one  cloud  marring  our  festivity.  If 
you  can  forgive  me  for  the  great  wrong  I  have  done 
you,  we  may  see  many  happy  days  togetlier  yet?" 

For  a  moment  the  Hermit  hid  his  face  in  his  hands> 
while  his  whole  frame  quivered  with  powerful  emo- 
tion. Then  raising  his  head,  to  the  amazement  of 
all  present,  he  removed  his  flowing  white  hair  and 
his  long  beard.  His. large  flowing  robe  fell  from  his 
shoulders,  and  lo !  a  pale,  stately,  dark-haired 
woman  stood  before  them. 

Wonder  chained  every  tongue.  Sir  William  Stan- 
ley sprang  forward  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  ex- 
claiming passionately  : 

"My  wife — my  wife — my  own  Elva  !" 

"  Good  Heaven  !  Sir  William  Stanley,  what  means 
all  this  ?"  exclaimed  Major  Percival,  finding  his 
tongue  at  last. 

"It  means,"  said  Sir  William,  raising  his  head 
proudly,  "  that  this  lady  is  my  first,  my  only  wife, 
Elvena  Snowe.  Deeply  have  I  wronged  her,  but  I 
shall  strive  to  atone  for  it  by  a  public  confession 
to-night.  When  I  forcibly  took  her  son  from  her, 
yonder  youth,  she  was  for  a  time  deranged,  and 
wandered  away  from  the  village  of  her  birth.  After 
a  time,  a  report  went  forth  that  she  was  dead.  She 
heard  it,  when  sanity  partially  returned,  and  resolved 
never  to  return  to  the  spot  where  siie  had  suffered  so 
much.  She  found  a  cottage  deserted  among  the  wild 
cliffs,  and  resolved  to  make  her  home  there.  Afraid 
that  some  one  would  recognize  and   bring  her  bacl^ 


530 


AND    LAST. 


I  1- 


w ..  '^f,' 


1 


with  the  cunning  of  partial  derangement,  she  dis- 
guised herse'f  as  you  have  seen,  and  for  years  lived 
on  alone,  uniil  she  learned  to  love  the  dreary  spot. 
When  the  war  commenced,  I  came  here,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  my  son.  She  heard  of  it,  and  unknown 
herself,  she  determined  to  watch  over  her  son,  I,  as 
you  all  know,  had  condemned  him  to  die.  At  the 
eleventh  hour,  she  came,  and  by  disclosing  who  she 
was,  saved  his  life.  I  believed  her,  for  the  time,  to 
be  a  being  from  the  world  of  spirits,  and  tlie  shock 
and  surprise  was  so  great  that  I  spared  my  son. 
Afterward  we  met,  and  she  told  me  all  ;  but  pride 
would  not  allow  me  to  confess  to  the  world  my  guilt. 
But  now  since  Leila  has  been  so  miraculously 
restored,  I  can  trample  pride  and  the  opinion  of  the 
world  under  foot,  and  proclaim  the  once  Hermit  of 
the  Cliffs  my  wife,  in  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  !" 

A  month  later,  Sir  William  and  Lady  Stanley  were 
bounding  over  the  blue  waves  *z-  "  Merrie  England." 

They  went  not  alone  ;  for  Leila,  now  Mrs.  Nugent 
PercivaU  and  her  husband,  accompanied  her. 

Fred  and  Edith,  and  Gus  and  Nell,  dwelt  long  and 
happily  in  the  land  they  loved  best. 

And  now,  reader,  farewell.  We  have  journeyed 
together  long ;  but  nothing  can  last  forever.  All 
things  must  have  a  close,  and  the  characters  who 
have  passed  before  you  must  disappear  from  your 
view  at  last.  I,  too,  must  go  from  your  sight — for 
the  daylight  is  dying  out  of  the  sky,  and  my  task  is 
ended.  I  trust,  however,  we  may,  ere  long,  meet 
again. 


'/ 


THE    END 


( 


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THE  STORY  OF  PAUL  JONES 

A  wonderful  historical  romance.  A  story  of  the  boy- 
hood and  later  life  of  that  daring  and  intrepid  sailor 
whose  remains  are  now  in  America.  Thousands  and  tens 
of  thousands  have  read  it  and  admired  it.  Many  con- 
sider it  one  of  the  best  books  Mr.  Lewis  has  produced. 

l2mo,  Clotb,    Illustrated,    Popular  Edition,    SO  Ceata 


G.  W.  DILLINOIAM  COMPANY 

PubliaHers  New  York 


M 


In 


■i 


II 


i 


«'■-' 


^i^nc  Splendid  Novels  by 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD  RAINE 

THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA 

A  talc  of  old-time  pirates  and  of  modem  love,  hate  and  adventure.  The 
scene  ia  laid  in  San  I'rancisco  on  board  The  Argus  and  in  Panama.  A  n>- 
mantic  Bekfch  for  the  lost  pirate  gold.  An  absorbing  love-story  runs  through 
the  book. 

i2fno,  Cloth,  Jacket  in  Colors.    Net  $1.3$, 

THE  VISION  SPLENDID 

A  powerful  story  in  which  a  man  of  big  ideas  and  Hne  ideals  wars  againsl 
graft  and  corruption.     A  most  satisfactory  love  affair  terminates  the  story. 

i2mo,  Cloth,  lUustrvUed.     Net  $1.2 j, 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT 

A  story  of  Arizona;  of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws;  of  a  bitter  feud 
betwee:?  cattle-men  and  sheep-herders.  The  heroine  is  a  most  unusual  woman 
and  her  love-story  reaches  a  culmination  that  is  fittingly  characicnstic  of  the 
ureat  free  West. 

22mo,  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition  50  cents. 

BRAND  BLOTTERS 

A  story  of  the  Cattle  Range.  This  story  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of  the 
frontier  with  all  its  engaging  dash  and  vigor  with  a  charming  love  interest 
running  through  its  320  pages. 

i2mo,  Ckik,  Illustrated.  Jacket  in  Colors.    Peptdar  EdiHen  $0  cents. 

"MAVERICKS" 

A  tale  of  the  westwm  frontier,  where  the  "rustler,"  whose  depredatioas  are 
80  keenly  resented  by  the  early  settlers  of  the  range,  abounds.  One  of  the 
sweetest  love  stories  ever  told. 

i2mo,  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  50  cotUs, 

A  TEXAS  RANGER 

How  a  member  of  the  most  dauntless  border  police  force  carried  law  kits 
the  mesquit,  saved  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  after  a  series  of  tlirilling  adreo- 
tures,  followed  a  fugitive  to  Wyoming,  and  then  passed  through  deadly  per? 
to  ultimate  happiness. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  50  cents. 

WYOMING  , 

In  this  vivid  story  of  the  outdoor  West  the  author  has  captured  the  breezy ' 
charm  of  "cattleland,"  and  brings  out  the  tiu"bid  life  of  the  frontier  with  afl 
its  engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  50  cents. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  politics  and  mioing 
industries  are  the  religion  of  the  country.  The  political  ooatest,  the  k)ve 
scene,  and  the  fine  character  drawing  give  this  story  great  strength  and  charm. 

i2nio,  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  EdiHon,  50  cents. 

BUCKY  O'CONNOR 

Every  chapter  teems  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  replete  with  the 
dashing  spirit  of  the  border,  told  with  dramatic  dash  and  absojcbing  fasdav 
tion  of  style  and  plot. 

i2mo.  Cloth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Edition,  59  cenIL 


LINE 


enture.  The 
lama.  A  ro 
runs  through 

i.   Net  $1.35. 

wars  againil 
B  the  story. 
.    Nd  $1.25. 

a  bitter  feud 
usual  woman 
Lcristic  of  the 

it/ion  50  cenli. 

\\A  life  of  the 
love  interest 

iH»n  $0  cents. 

fedatioaB  are 
One  of  the 

ion,  50  cents, 

ried  law  int0 
rilling  adreo- 
I  deadly  per? 

Hon,  50  cents, 

m1  the  breezy ' 
Dtier  with  aD 

Hon,  so  cents. 

:s  and  mining 
egt,  the  love 
h  and  charm. 
^OH,  50  cents. 

Jete  with  the 
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tion,  59  ceifll* 


THE  FASCINATING  NOVELS 


OF. 


Celia  E.  Gardner 


BROKEN  DREAMS  (In  verse)     TESTED. 


COMPENSATION  (Inverse). 
HER  ..AST  LOVER. 
RICHMEDWAY'S  TWO 

LOVES. 
STOLEN  WATERS  (In  verse). 


TERRACE  ROSES. 
TWISTED  SKEIN  (Ln 
verse). 

A  WOMAN'S  WILES. 
WON  UNDER  PROTEST 


^These  stories  are  as  far  removed  from  the  sensational  as 
possible,  yet  in  matter  as  well  as  style,  they  possess  a  fascin- 
ation all  their  own.  The  author  makes  a  specialty  of  the 
study  of  a  woman's  heart.  Their  tone  and  atmosphere  are 
high;  the  characterizations  good;  the  dialog'ae  bright  and 
natural.    Her  books  have  had  an  enormous  sale. 


i2  mo.    Cloth  bound,    Prtce^  J^ceata 

each,  and  sent  FREE  by  mall,  on 

receipt  of  price  by 


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iFj  ; 


f 


V 

TH 


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BR. 


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THE  CHARMING  NOVELS 

OF 

JULIE  P.  SMITH 


BT.OSSOM  BUD. 
COURTING  AND  FARM- 
ING. 
KISS  AND  BE  FRIENDS. 
THE  MARRIED  BELLE. 
THE  WIDOWER. 


CHRIS  AND  OTHO. 
-iIS::YOUNG^WIFE. 
LUCY. 

TEN  OLD  MAIDS. 
WIDOW  GOLDSMITH'S 
DAUGHTER. 


Julie  P.  Smith's  books  are  of  unusual  merit,  uncommonly 
well  written,  cleverly  developed  and  characterized  by  great 
wit  and  vivacity.  They  have  been  extremely  popular,  and 
they  still  retain  to  a  greatjdegree  their  former  power  to  charm. 
Her  pictures  of  farm  life  and  of  rural  conditions  are  wholesome 
and  finely  done.  The  human  interest  is  never  lacking  from 
her  stories. 


AU  publlabed  ualtorm,  cloib  bound.     Price,  SO 
cents  each,  and  sent  PRBB  by  mall, 
on  receipt  of  price  by 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


s 


rELS 


TH 


D  OTHO. 
G^WIFE. 

MAIDS. 

OLDSMITH'S 

ER. 


t,  uncommonly 
irized  by  great 
y  popular,  and 
K)wer  to  charm. 
i  are  wholesome 
er  lacking  from 


Price,  SO 
ymail. 


MPANY 

NEW  TORK 


